UC-NRLF 


B    M    IDE 


POEMS    BY   JONES    VERY 


WITH 


31ntroUucton? 


BY 


WILLIAM  P.  ANDREWS 


And  all  their  motions  upward  be, 

And  ever  as  they  mount,  like  larks  they  sing. 

The  note  is  sad,  yet  music  for  a  king. 

GEORGE  HERBERT 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND    COMPANY 
New  York:   11  East  Seventeenth  Street 


1883 


Copyright,  1883, 
Br  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  and  Company. 


M 


Inscribed 

To  the   Beloved   Memory  of  the  Author's  dear  Brother, 
WASHINGTON    VERY. 


Iprcfacc, 


THE  first  edition  of  Mr.  Very's  writings  was 
prepared  by  Mr.  Emerson,  and  published  at  his 
request  by  Messrs.  Little  &  Brown,  at  Boston  in 
1839,  under  the  title  of  "  Essays  and  Poems." 
It  was  long  since  exhausted,  though  never  re 
printed,  and  consisted  of  three  essays  in  prose 
and  something  less  than  half  of  the  poetical 
pieces  here  given. 

The  essays  received  high  praise  from  eminent 
sources,  though  it  is  thought  best  not  to  include 
them  in  the  present  collection  of  the  poetry, 
whose  pure,  bird-like  note  of  unpremeditated 
song  was  at  that  time,  if  not  still,  a  unique  pro 
duction  here  ;  and  stood  (as  Mr.  Dana  remarked 
of  it)  quite  "  apart "  in  American  literature. 
It  was  hailed  with  delight  by  the  leading  literary 
men  then  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  (vide  Me 
moir,  pp.  9-11),  whose  feeling  for  this  genu 
ine,  underived  voice  of  New  England  piety  finds 


vi  PREFACE. 

expression,  it  is  hoped,  in  the  lines  which  Mr. 
Very's  literary  friends  have  desired  should  stand 
as  an  introduction  to  this  collection  of  his  poetry. 

If  the  verse  alluded  to  seems  to  overestimate 
the  value  of  that  poetry,  it  is  to  be  remembered 
that  it  applies  only  to  the  condition  of  poetical 
literature  in  this  country  half  a  century  ago  ; 
and  it  is  to  be  noted  that  it  understates  the  im 
pression  which  Mr.  Very's  remarkable  originality 
and  fervor  of  pure  devotion  made  upon  his  con 
temporaries. 

The  present  collection  has  been  arranged  with 
a  view  of  showing  the  development  of  the  Au 
thor's  religious  idea  connectedly ;  and  has  been 
divided  into  such  groupings  and  sequences  as  the 
subject  naturally  assumes  by  headings,  taken 
from  his  writings,  which  serve  to  denote  the 
character  of  the  group  so  inclosed.  Though  not 
including  all  the  verse  even  produced  during  the 
period  of  Mr.  Very's  remarkable  exaltation,  it 
presents  throughout  a  closely  connected  sequence 
of  thought,  and  a  complete  picture  of  a  deep  and 
unusual  religious  experience,  that  colors  all  of 
the  writer's  work  ;  some  of  which,  of  earlier  and 
later  origin,  is  included  for  general  literary 
reasons. 


PREFACE.  vii 

Into  it  all  he  poured  his  inmost  soul ;  whose 
history  is  here  written  with  an  intensity  which 
varied  with  the  writer's  spiritual  and  mental 
condition.  All  of  Mr.  Very's  verse  is  absolutely 
composed  without  a  thought  of  literary  form,  — 
though  it  has  an  unstudied  grace  of  its  own,  — 
and  with  a  spontaneity  which  is  almost  as  rare 
as  it  is  conceded  to  be  admirable  in  literary  art. 

WM.  P.  ANDREWS. 

SALEM,  MASS.,  February,  1883. 


Contents. 


PAGB 

MEMOIR       . 1 

POEMS. 
THE  CALL. 

The  Tent 37 

To  Him  that  Hath  shall  be  Given   ....  37 

Who  hath  Ears  to  Hear,  let  him  Hear         .        .  38 

The  Son 39 

In  Him  we  Live 39 

Time 40 

The  Star 41 

The  Idler         ........  41 

The  Hand  and  Foot 42 

The  Disciple 43 

The  Clay 43 

The  Earth        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .  44 

The  River     ........  45 

The  House 45 

Day  unto  Day  uttereth  Speech     ....  46 
THE  NEW  BIKTH. 

The  New  Birth 49 

The  New  World       .......  50 

The  Garden 50 

The  Presence 51 

The  Spirit  Land 52 

The  Ark '.        .52 

The  Living  God 53 

Life 54 

Change         ........  54 

Night 55 

Morning       ........  56 

The  Journey 56 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Day 57 

Humility 58 

THE  MESSAGE. 

Yourself 61 

The  Eye  and  Ear 61 

The  Lost 62 

The  Narrow  Way 63 

The  Created 63 

The  Apostles 64 

The  Slaveholder       .        .-.''.        .        .        .  65 

The  Slave 65 

The  Morning  Watch 66 

The  Dead 67 

The  Graveyard 67 

The  Prison   .........  68 

He  was  acquainted  with  Grief        .        .        .        .69 

Faith 70 

Enoch ,        .        .70 

Worship *  71 

Thy  Brother's  Blood 72 

The  Jew 72 

The  Poor 73 

He  gave  me  no  Meat    .......  74 

Bread       .                                 74 

The  Heart    .        .    .    .       .        .        .        .        .  75 

Jacob's  Well 76 

The  Prophet         .......  76 

Christmas        .        ..       .        •        .        .        .        •  77 

The  Mountain               , 78 

The  Things  Before 78 

The  Soul's  Rest 79 

Praise 80 

NATURE. 

Nature 83 

The  Song 83 

To  the  Pure  all  Things  are  Pure     ....  84 

Nature 85 

The  Robe                                                                .  85 


CONTENTS.  xi 

PACK 

The  Leafless  Tree 86 

The  Winter  Rain 87 

The  Spirit 87 

The  Desert 88 

Labor  and  Rest 89 

The  Tree 89 

The  April  Snow 90 

The  True  Light       .        . 91 

The  Wind-Flower        ......  91 

The  Violet 92 

The  Columbine 93 

The  Wild  Rose  of  Plymouth 93 

The  Sabbatia       .        .        .        .        .        .        .  94 

The  Robin 95 

To  the  Canary-Bird 95 

The  Stranger's  Gift         .        ....        .        .96 

The  Rose      ....        ....  97 

The  Acorn 97 

I  was  sick  and  in  Prison      .        .                 .        .  98 
The  Trees  of  Life    .        .        .        ...        .99 

The  Clouded  Morning 99 

The  Fair  Morning 100 

The  Ramble 101 

The  Invitation .101 

The  Field  and  Wood 102 

The  Barberry-Bush 103 

The  Fruit 104 

The  Harvest     .        .        .      . »        .        .        .        .104 

The  Latter  Rain  .        ...        .        .        .  105 

The  Frost 106 

Autumn  Days       .......  106 

Autumn  Leaves       .        .        .        .        .        .        .  107 

SONG  AND  PRAISE. 

The  Prayer .  Ill 

The  Coming  of  the  Lord 112 

The  Call 113 

The  Cottage         .        .  ' 114 

The  Tenant 115 

Faith  and  Sight 116 


xii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Silent 117 

The  Immortal 118 

The  Gifts  of  God      .        .        .        .        .        .        .119 

The  Sight  of  the  Ocean        . 

The  Morn        .        .... 

The  Shepherd's  Life    ...        .'-.. 

Nature    ...        .        .        .        . 

The  Swift     .        .        . 

The  Hour         .        .        .... 

To-day         .        .        . 

The  Voice  of  God    .        .        .        ...        .127 

To  the  Painted  Columbine   ..... 

Autumn  Flowers      .        .        .        .        . 

To  the  Fossil  Flower 

The  Old  Road         ....... 

The  Worm 

The  Winter  Bird     .  .        . 

To  the  Humming-Bird         .        ... 

Lines        ......... 

Lines    

Dedication        ........ 

Memory 

The  Bunch  of  Flowers     ...... 

Eheu,   fugaces,    Posthume,    Posthume,   Labuntur 
Anni          .        .        . 

The  World 

My  Mother's  Voice      .        ... 

Forevermore     ........ 

THE  BEGINNING  AND  THE  END. 

The  Word        .  

The.  Rock  . '       . " 

The  Soldier 

The  War 

The  Railroad 

Love 

Thy  Beauty  Fades 

Beauty 

The  Hours 

The  Beginning  and  the  End         .... 


MEMOIR. 


"  A  n  extra-mundane  character  with  reference  to  this 
globe,  and  though  not  a  native  of  the  moon,  not  made  of 
the  dust  of  this  planet " —  COWPER. 


MEMOIR, 


JONES  VERY,  the  poet,  was  born  at  Salem,  on 
Massachusetts  Bay,  on  the  28th  of  August,  1813. 
He  was  the  eldest  of  six  children,  two  of  whom 
died  in  infancy.  His  brother,  the  Rev.  Wash 
ington  Very,  who  died  in  early  manhood,  and 
Miss  L.  L.  A.  Very,  the  younger  of  his  two  sis 
ters,  who  still  survive  him,  exhibited  also  a  de 
cided  talent  for  versification,  which  they  seem  to 
have  inherited  from  their  parents,  both  of  whom 
were  fond  of  composing  verses,  and  sometimes 
included  them  in  their  letters  to  the  children. 

Mr.  Very's  father,  "  Capt."  Jones  Very,  a  son 
of  "  Capt."  Isaac  Very  of  Spencer,  Mass.,  and 
his  third  wife  Rachel  (Jones)  Very,  was,  like  his 
father  before  him,  a  shipmaster,  and  followed  the 
sea  from  early  life.  He  was  one  of  the  ship 
masters  whose  intelligence  and  gentlemanly  bear 
ing  made  the  name  of  New  England  honored  on 
all  seas.  Married  early  in  life  to  his  cousin, 
Lydia  Very  of  Salem,  he  seems  to  have  been  a 
highly  respected  and  useful  citizen,  and  was  soon 
given  command  of  a  vessel.  He  made  many 
successful  voyages,  on  the  last  two  of  which,  in 


4  MEMOIR. 

1823  to  Cronstadt,  and  in  1824  to  New  Orleans, 
he  was  accompanied  by  his  son  Jones,  then  a  boy 
of  nine.1 

While  in  New  Orleans  young  Jones  was  sent 
to  school,  and  on  his  return  to  Salem  he  went 

1  By  the  following  genealogical  note,  for  which  we  are  indebted 
to  the  researches  of  Dr.  Henry  Wheatland,  President  of  the  Essex 
Institute  in  Salem,  in  the  publications  of  which  Society  it  was  first 
printed,  it  appears  that  the  family  is  traced  back  to  Bridget  Very,1 
who  came  from  England  with  her  two  sons  and  a  daughter,  and 
was  a  member  of  the  First  Church  in  Salem  in  1G48.  She  and 
her  son  Samuel 2  lived  on  the  north  side  of  Cedar  Pond,  near  the 
Danvers  almshouse,  where  they  owned  a  large  tract  of  land,  and 
where  her  descendants  resided  for  a  century  or  more.  Many  of 
them  removed  to  Salem  and  became  shipmasters. 

Samuel  Fen/,2  born  in  England  about  1G19,  married  Alice,  daugh 
ter  of  John  Woodis,  Woodhouse  or  Woodice,  had  : 

Benjamin  Very,3  married  Jemima,  daughter  of  Joseph  Newhall 
of  Lynn  ;  had  : 

Isaac  Very,*  born  July  30,  1715  ;  married  Elizabeth  Giles  in  1736 ; 
a  corporal  under  Colonel  Ichabod  Plaisted  in  1756  ;  died  at  Sandy 
Hook  in  the  army,  1778  ;  had  sons  Isaac  and  Samuel. 

Samuel  Very,"  born  in  Salem,  December  10,  1755  ;  married,  in 
1776,  Hannah  Putney.  She  died  February  4,  1799.  He  was  a  mas 
ter  and  owner  of  a  vessel,  but  kept  a  store  many  years  in  Salem  at 
the  corner  of  Essex  and  Boston  streets  ;  died  in  1824,  aged  69  ;  had  : 
Lydia,0  born  June  14, 1792  ;  married  her  cousin,  Jones  Very,  and  was 
the  mother  of  the  subject  of  this  sketch. 

Isaac  Very,r>  born  in  Salem,  1745 ;  married,  for  his  third  wife, 
Rachel  Jones  of  Charlton.  He  resided  some  years  in  Charlton  and 
Spencer,  the  later  part  of  his  life  in  Salem  ;  was  master  of  a  vessel 
and  an  officer  of  the  customs,  Salem.  He  died  in  1831,  aged  86 ; 
had: 

Jones  Very,G  the  father  of  the  poet,  born  in  Spencer,  Mass.,  No 
vember  17,  1790,  and  followed  the  seas  from  early  life.  As  a  ship 
master  he  sailed  in  the  employ  of  the  Hon.  William  Gray  from  1817 
to  1821,  in  the  brig  Concord  ;  from  1821  to  September,  1824,  in  the 
barque  Aurelia.  He  married  his  cousin,  Lydia  Very,  above  men 
tioned.  He  resided  at  the  corner  of  Essex  and  Boston  streets  in 
Salem.  He  died  December  22,  1824. 


MEMOIR.  5 

back  to  the  Public  Grammar  School,  where  he 
was  remarked  as  a  shy,  modest  lad,  who  took 
little  part  in  the  boyish  sports  of  his  fellows. 
This  fact,  and  a  certain  diffidence  and  reserve  of 
manner,  tended  to  limit  the  number  of  his  school 
intimates,  though  he  was  respected  and  beloved 
by  all  who  came  in  contact  with  him. 

In  December,  1824,  his  father  died,  and  his 
mother,  a  woman  of  much  decision  of  character, 
was  left  to  bring  up  her  young  family  alone.  To 
her  the  poet  was  indebted  for  his  ardent  love  of 
flowers,  and  his  graceful  lines,  entitled  "My 
Mother's  Voice,"  show  the  warm  affection  and 
harmonious  relation  that  existed  between  them. 
Mrs.  Very  was  inclined  to  be  skeptical  of  the 
shallower  religious  pretensions  and  conventions, 
but  reverenced  her  son's  lofty  self-abnegation  ; 
and  in  the  height  of  his  religious  ecstasy  she 
shielded  him  from  much  annoyance  incident  to 
the  reception  of  his  exalted  views  of  human  duty 
and  conduct,  —  opinions  that  shocked  the  serene 
contentment  of  the  conventional  clergymen  and 
respectable  pillars  of  the  churches  ;  who  declared 
that  Very  and  his  friend  Emerson  were  danger 
ous  persons,  and  that  they  should  be  indicted,  or 
at  least  incarcerated  in  an  asylum  for  the  insane. 

Young  Very  was  a  devoted  student,  and  his 
great  desire  was  to  lead  a  literary  life,  and  to  go, 
as  he  expressed  it,  "  to  the  depths  of  literature." 
He  was  unusually  mature  for  his  age,  and  passed 


6  MEMOIR. 

the  larger  part  of  his  time  in  study,  but  the  care 
of  his  father's  family  had  devolved  upon  him, 
and  when  he  was  fourteen  years  old  he  went  into 
an  auction  room  in  Salem  as  errand  and  store 
boy.  He  as  conscientiously  discharged  these  new 
and  distasteful  duties  as  he  did  the  more  con 
genial  tasks  of  the  school-room  ;  but  occupied  all 
his  well-earned  moments  of  leisure  in  perfecting 
his  education.  He  seized  with  avidity  on  all 
books  that  passed  through  his  employer's  hands, 
and  purchased  such  as  his  slender  means  would 
allow.  In  exchange  for  a  rare  copy  of  Shake 
speare  which  he  procured  in  this  way,  he  ob 
tained  from  a  student  the  books  necessary  to  fit 
him  for  college,  and  with  the  kindly  assistance  of 
Mr.  J.  Fox  Worcester,  a  gentleman  engaged  in 
preparing  young  men  for  the  university,  he 
fitted  himself  to  become  a  tutor  in  a  private  Latin 
school  in  Salem,  then  presided  over  by  Mr. 
Henry  K.  Oliver.  He  assisted  Mr.  Oliver  in 
preparing  boys  for  entrance  in  the  freshman 
class,  and  pursued  the  studies  of  the  first  col 
legiate  year  meantime  with  that  gentleman.  In 
1834  an  uncle  of  young  Very  furnished  what 
pecuniary  aid  he  needed,  and  he  entered  Har 
vard  College,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  in  the  last  term 
of  the  sophomore  year.  He  graduated  in  1836 
with  the  second  honors  (the  first  being  given  to 
a  scholar  of  the  same  rank  who  had  pursued  the 
entire  course  within  the  university),  and  was  ap- 


MEMOIR.  7 

pointed  a  tutor  in  Greek,  studying  Theology  at 
the  same  time  in  the  Divinity  School. 

In  college,  as  in  school,  he  was  too  sedate  to 
be  widely  and  generally  popular,  but  all  who 
knew  him  reverenced  the  lofty  purity  of  his 
character,  and  he  soon  gathered  around  him  a 
small  circle  of  warmly  attached  friends.  He  was 
sensitive  and  reserved,  but  the  cordiality  of  his 
tone  and  the  sweet  naturalness  of  his  smile  of 
welcome  at  once  attracted  whoever  made  his 
acquaintance,  though  the  uniform  gravity  of  his 
daily  walk  and  conversation  prevented  the  many 
from  approaching  him  as  an  intimate. 

He  diligently  followed  his  studies  in  the  Di 
vinity  School,  but  found  time  to  devote  more 
than  the  then  usual  attention  to  his  pupils  in  the 
Greek  class. 

He  has  since  been  spoken  of,  by  those  under 
his  charge,  as  an  ideal  instructor;  "one  who 
fairly  breathed  the  spirit  of  the  Greek  language 
and  its  literature,  surrounding  the  study  with  a 
charm  which,"  his  pupils  declare,  "  vanished  from 
Harvard  with  him."  He,  however,  disclaimed 
any  especial  merit  as  an  instructor,  saying,  in 
answer  to  a  compliment  on  his  success,  that  he 
"only  let  the  Greek  grow."  He  visited  the 
students  in  their  rooms  also,  and  asked  them  to 
walk  with  him  ;  talking  meanwhile  of  the  highest 
spiritual  themes,  but  in  a  tone  so  devout  and  so 
far  removed  from  cant  as  to  command  the  at- 


8  MEMOIR. 

tention  of  even  the  most  thoughtless  ;  a  striking 
proof  of  his  power.  Forty-four  years  afterward 
the  hilarities  of  a  class  supper  were  suspended, 
that  each  member  present  might  bear  loving 
testimony  to  his  individual  sense  of  obligation  to 
Mr.  Very's  instruction  and  the  force  of  his  per 
sonal  influence. 

The  verse?  which  flowed  from  his  pen  often 
first  appeared  011  the  backs  of  the  young  men's 
Greek  exercises  as  incentives  toward  a  nobler 
life ;  and  his  best  literary  work  was  produced  at 
this  time  (1836-38).  His  intense  application, 
and  the  excitement  of  his  exalted  spiritual  con 
dition  proved  too  much  for  his  health,  and  in 
1838  he  retired  to  Salem  in  search  of  needed 
rest. 

There  the  stream  of  poetry  flowed  on  uninter 
ruptedly,  and  it  is  a  noticeable  fact  that  all  his 
more  important  work  was  produced  in  this  spon 
taneous,  unstudied  way.  He,  with  Milton,  re 
garded  its  accomplishment  as  lying  not  with  him, 
"  but  in  a  Power  above  him ; "  as  proceeding 
directly  from  what  Milton  speaks  of,  in  alluding 
to  his  own  great  projected  work,  as  "  that  Eter 
nal  Spirit,  who  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and 
knowledge,  and  sends  out  his  seraphim  with  the 
hallowed  fire  of  his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the 
lips  of  whom  He  pleases." 

He  had  become  intensely  interested  in  the  sub 
ject  of  religion,  and  was  inclined  to  carry  this 


MI-.U01R.  9 

Miltonic  view  of  inspiration  to  its  last  results. 
He  was  therefore  thought  by  many  persons  to  be 
insane,  but  Rev.  Dr.  Clarke,  who  saw  him  at  this 
time,  declared  it  to  be  a  case  of  "MOXO-SANIA 
rather  than  mono-mania ; "  and  Mr.  Emerson 
wrote  that  he  regarded  him  as  "  profoundly  sane," 
and  "ivished  the  whole  world  were  as  mad  as  he" 
Dr.  Clarke  said  he  failed  to  find  evidence  of  de 
rangement,  and  "saw  only  the  workings  of  a 
mind  absorbed  in  the  loftiest  contemplations  of 
religious  truth,  and  which  utterly  disregarded  all 
which  did  not  come  into  that  high  sphere  of 
thought."  He  said :  "  Mr.  Very's  views  in  re 
gard  to  religion  were  not  different  from  those 
heretofore  advocated  by  many  pure  and  earnestly 
religious  persons.  He  maintains,  as  did  Fenelon, 
Mme.  Guion,  and  others,  that  all  sin  consists  in 
self-will,  all  holiness  in  unconditional  surrender 
of  our  own  will  to  the  will  of  God.  He  believes 
that  one  whose  object  is  not  to  do  his  own  will  in 
anything,  but  constantly  to  obey  God,  is  led  by 
Him,  and  taught  of  Him  in  all  things.  He  is  a 
son  of  God  as  Christ  was  THE  Sox,  because  he 
always  did  the  things  which  pleased  his  Father." 

Mr.  Very  said  that  every  man  would  attain  to 
this  when  he  made  the  final  sacrifice  in  filial 
obedience ;  and  he  believed  himself  to  have  done 
so. 

Miss  E.  P.  Peabody,  who  was  then  intimate 
with  both  Mr.  Very  and  Rev.  Dr.  Channing,  re- 


10  MEMOIR. 

ports  the  latter  as  being  "  immensely  impressed 
and  touched  with  his  union  of  gentleness  and 
modesty,  and  yet  complete  sense  of  his  word 
being  the  utterance  of  the  Holy  Spirit;  "  and  as 
saying  that  "  he  had  not  lost  his  reason,  but  only 
held  his  senses,  his  lower  faculties  in  abeyance." 
"Men  in  general,"  said  Dr.  Channing,  "have 
lost  or  never  found  this  higher  mind,  their  in 
sanity  is  profound,  Mr.  Very's  is  only  superficial. 
To  hear  him  talk  was  like  looking  into  the  purely 
spiritual  world,  into  truth  itself.  He  had  nothing 
of  self-exaggeration,  but  seemed  to  have  attained 
self-annihilation  and  become  an  oracle  of  God." 
Dr.  Channing  repeated  that  he  had  "not  lost 
his  reason,"  and  quoted  some  of  his  sayings, 
identical  with  many  parts  of  his  sonnets,  as  proofs 
of  the  "  iron  sequence  of  his  thought."  "  Wells 
of  thought,  clear  and  pellucid,  and  coming  up 
from  profound  depths,"  Dr.  Clarke  had  called 
them  in  the  notice  of  Mr.  Very  before  quoted 
from  ;  and  Hawthorne  has  embalmed  them  in  the 
album  of  his  "Virtuoso's  Collection,"  as  the 
utterances  of  "a  poet  whose  voice  is  scarcely 
heard  among  us  as  yet  by  reason  of  its  depth." 
Referring  to  an  interview  in  which  Very  had 
delivered  his  mission  to  him,  Hawthorne  speaks 
of  his  (Very's)  limitations  as  arising  from  want 
of  a  sense  of  the  ludicrous  ;  but  regarded  his 
views  as  sanctified  by  his  real  piety  and  good 
ness.  He  added,  however,  that  "  he  had  better 


MEMOIR.  11 

remain  as  he  is  —  one  organ  in  the  world  of  im 
personal  spirit  —  at  least  as  long  as  he  can  write 
such  good  sonnets."  Our  elder  poet,  Mr.  Richard 
H.  Dana,  spoke  of  them  in  one  of  his  friendly 
notes  to  Mr.  Very,  as  "  so  deeply  and  poetically 
thoughtful ;  so  true  in  language,  so  complete  as 
a  whole."  He  also  wrote  to  his  other  poet 
friend,  Mr.  Bryant,  that  he  regarded  them  as 
"  standing  apart  here  in  those  qualities ;  "  and 
with  this  judgment  Mr.  Bryant  cordially  agreed  ; 
often  commenting  upon  their  "  extraordinary 
grace  and  originality,"  and  formally  pronouncing 
them  "  among  the  finest  in  the  language." 

Mr.  R.  W.  Emerson  hailed  them  as  "  bearing 
the  unquestionable  stamp  of  grandeur."  "  They 
are,"  he  says,  "  the  breathings  of  a  certain  en 
tranced  devotion ;  as  sincere  a  litany  as  the  He 
brew  songs  of  David  or  Isaiah,  and  only  less 
than  they,  because  they  are  indebted  to  the 
Hebrew  Muse  for  their  tone  and  genius.  They 
have  the  sublime  unity  of  the  Decalogue  or  the 
Code  of  Menu;  and  if  as  monotonous,  yet  are 
they  almost  as  pure  as  the  sounds  of  surrounding 
Nature."  Mr.  George  William  Curtis  has  lately 
remarked,  "it  is  plain  that  they  are  gems  of 
purest  ray  serene ; "  and  another  competent 
critic  has  happily  characterized  them  as  "  a 
soul's  liistory  written  with  a  pen  of  light."  As 
pure  literature  they  are  highly  interesting,  amid 
the  present  flood  of  secondary  and  derived  work ; 


12  MEMOIR. 

and,  as  Goethe  said  of  another  genuine  poet  of  a 
single  note  :  "  the  true  test  of  all  literary  great 
ness  dwells  with  him,  that  the  more  intimately 
you  know  him,  the  more  you  love  and  admire 
him." 

Mr.  Very  regarded  these  sonnets  as  containing 
a  "  message  "  which  had  been  "  given  him  "  to 
deliver  ;  for  he  was  infinitely  modest  about  his 
own  part  in  their  production,  and  thought  him 
self  but  a  reed  through  which  the  Spirit  might 
breathe  a  music  of  its  own.  It  was  a  perfectly 
natural  consequence,  he  believed,  of  his  submis 
sion  to  the  Divine  Will ;  and  would  always  fol 
low  if  man  offered  no  selfish  obstruction  to  the 
movement  of  that  Holy  Spirit,  ever  striving  to 
manifest  itself  in  the  human  soul. 

In  this  earlier  period  of  his  most  remarkable 
production,  during  the  years  1837-38  and  '39, 
these  verses  poured  forth  from  him  with  ex 
traordinary  rapidity,  and  were  penciled  down  as 
they  "  came  "  to  him,  on  a  great  sheet  of  paper 
which  he  had  folded  to  pages  of  small  note  size. 
Miss  Peabody  says  they  were  produced  at  the 
rate  of  one  or  two  a  day.  When  the  sheet  was 
full  Mr.  Very  brought  it  to  her,  and  she  trans 
mitted  it  to  Mr.  Emerson  at  Concord,  who  after 
ward  printed  these  verses  with  others,  which  Mr. 
Very  himself  gave  him,  substantially  unaltered. 

Mr.  Emerson  says  in  his  private  journal,  of 
Very  :  "  Our  Saint  was  very  unwilling  to  allow 


MEMOIR.  13 

correction"  (of  his  verses),  "but  his  friend  said, 
I  supposed  you  were  too  high  in  your  thought  to 
mind  such  trifles."  He  replied,  "  I  value  these 
verses  not  because  they  are  mine,  but  because 
they  are  not" 

Mr.  Emerson's  notes  on  Mr.  Very,  made  in 
his  journals  of  the  time,  are  so  valuable  as  ex 
hibiting  the  character  of  Mr.  Very's  thought, 
that  they  may  well  be  given  here  as  originally 
jotted  down.  The  first  entry  occurs  under  date 
of  October  26,  1838,  and  it  and  the  others,  made 
apparently  about  the  same  time,  are  as  follows : 

Jones  Very  came  hither  two  days  since.  His 
position  accuses  society  as  much  as  society  names 
that  false  and  morbid.  And  much  of  his  discourse 
concerning  society,  church,  and  college  was  abso 
lutely  just. 

He  says  it  is  with  him  a  day  of  hate  :  that  he  dis 
cerns  the  bad  element  in  every  person  whom  he 
meets,  which  repels  him:  he  even  shrinks  a  little  to 
give  the  hand,  that  sign  of  receiving.  The  institu 
tions,  the  cities  which  men  have  built  the  world  over, 
look  to  him  like  a  huge  ink-blot.  Ilis  only  guard  in 
going  to  see  men  is,  that  he  goes  to  do  them  good, 
else  they  would  injure  him  spiritually.  He  lives  in 
the  sight  that  He  who  made  him,  made  the  things  he 
sees.  He  would  as  soon  embrace  a  black  Egyptian 
mummy  as  Socrates.  He  would  obey,  —  obey.  He 
is  not  disposed  to  attack  religions  or  charities,  though 
false.  The  bruised  reed  he  would  not  break,  smok 
ing  flax  not  quench. 


14  MEMOIR. 

He  answered  L.,  "  your  thought  speaks  there,  and 
not  your  life ;  "  and  he  is  very  sensible  of  interference 
in  thought  and  act.  A  very  accurate  discernment  of 
spirits  belongs  to  his  state,  and  he  detects  at  once 
the  presence  of  an  alien  element,  though  he  cannot 
tell  whence,  how,  or  whereto  it  is. 

He  thinks  me  covetous  in  my  hold  of  truth,  of 
seeing  truth  separate,  and  of  receiving  or  taking  it, 
instead  of  merely  obeying.  The  will  is  to  him  all ; 
—  as  to  me,  after  my  own  showing,  truth.  He  is 
sensible  in  one  of  a  little  colder  air  than  that  he 
breathes.  He  says,  "  You  do  not  disobey  because 
you  do  the  wrong  act,  but  you  do  the  wrong  act  be 
cause  you  first  disobey.  And  you  do  not  obey  be 
cause  you  do  the  good  action,  but  you  do  the  good 
action  because  you  first  obey." 

He  has  nothing  to  do  with  time,  because  he  obeys. 
A  man  who  is  busy  has  no  time,  he  does  not  recog 
nize  that  element.  A  man  who  is  idle  says  he  does 
not  know  what  to  do  with  his  time.  Obedience  is  in 
eternity. 

He  says  it  is  the  necessity  of  the  Spirit  to  speak 
with  authority. 

He  had  the  manners  of  a  man,  —  one,  that  is, 
to  whom  life  was  more  than  meat.  He  felt  it,  he 
said,  an  honor  to  wash  his  face,  being,  as  it  was,  the 
temple  of  the  Spirit. 

I  ought  not  to  omit  to  record  the  astonishment 
which  seized  all  the  company  when  our  brave  Saint 
the  other  day  fronted  the  presiding  Preacher.  The 
Preacher  began  to  tower  and  dogmatize  with  many 
words.  Then  I  foresaw  that  his  doom  was  fixed; 
and,  as  soon  as  he  had  ceased  speaking,  the  Saint  set 


MEMOIR.  15 

him  right,  and  blew  away  all  his  words  in  an  instant, 
—  unhorsed  him,  I  may  say,  and  tumbled  him  along 
the  ground  in  utter  dismay,  like  my  angel  of  Heli- 
odorus;  never  was  discomfiture  more  complete.  In 
tones  of  genuine  pathos,  he  bid  him  wonder  at  the 
Love  which  suffered  him  to  speak  there  in  his  chair 
of  things  he  knew  nothing  of ;  one  might  expect  to 
see  the  book  taken  from  his  hands  and  him  thrust 
out  of  the  room,  and  yet  he  was  allowed  to  sit  and 
talk,  whilst  every  word  he  spoke  was  a  step  of  de 
parture  from  the  truth;  and  of  this  he  commanded 
himself  to  bear  witness. 

In  the  woods,  he  said  to  me,  "  One  might  forget 
here  that  the  world  was  desert  and  empty,  and  all 
the  people  wicked." 

When  he  is  in  the  room  with  other  persons,  speech 
stops,  as  if  there  were  a  corpse  in  the  apartment. 

At  Walden  Pond,  when  the  water  was  much  dis 
turbed  by  the  wind,  he  said  :  "  See  how  each  wave 
rises  from  the  midst  with  an  original  force,  at  the 
same  time  that  it  partakes  of  an  original  movement." 

In  our  walk  Jones  Very  said  that  he  had  been  to 
Cambridge  and  that  he  had  there  found  his  brother 
in  his  chamber  reading  Livy.  "I  asked  him,"  he 
continued,  "  if  the  Romans  were  masters  of  the 
world  ?  My  brother  said  they  had  been  ;  I  told  him 
they  were  still.  Then  I  went  into  the  room  of  a 
senior,  who  lived  opposite,  and  found  him  writing  a 
theme;  I  asked  him  what  was  his  subject?  and  he 
said,  Cicero's  Vanity;  I  asked  him  if  the  Romans 
were  masters  of  the  world.  He  said  they  had  been; 
I  told  him  they  were  still.  This  was  in  the  garret 
of  Mr.  Ware's  house  where  my  brother's  room  was. 


16  MEMOIR. 

Then  I  went  down  into  Mr.  Ware's  study,  and  found 
him  reading  Bishop  Butler,  and  I  asked  him  if  the 
Romans  were  masters  of  the  world  ?  He  said  they 
had  been ;  I  told  him  they  were  still." 

What  led  him  to  study  Shakespeare  was  the  fact 
that  all  young  men  say,  Shakespeare  was  no  saint  — 
yet  see  what  Genius.  He  wished  to  solve  that  prob 
lem.  When  he  was  asked,  What  was  the  difference 
between  wisdom  and  genius  ?  he  replied  :  "Wisdom 
was  of  God,"— but  he  had  left  genius,  and  could 
not  speak  of  it.  He  was  pressed  further,  and  said, 
*'  Genius  was  the  decay  of  Wisdom."  He  added: 
"  To  the  preexistent  Shakespeare,  Wisdom  was  of- 
ered;  but  he  did  not  accept  it,  and  so  he  died  away 
into  Genius.  When  his  Vineyard  was  given  him, 
God  looked  that  he  should  bring  forth  grapes,  but 
he  brought  forth  sour  grapes."  "But,"  said  the  in 
terrogator,  u  My  grapes  tasted  sweet."  He  replied  : 
*'  That  was  because  you  knew  not  the  sweet.  All 
things  are  sweet,  untiL there  comes  a  sweeter." 

When  Jones  Very  was  in  Concord,  he  had  said  to 
me:  "  I  always  felt  when  I  heard  you  spt-ak,  or  read 
your  writings,  that  you  saw  the  truth  better  than 
others;  yet  I  felt  that  your  spirit  was  not  quite  right. 
It  was  as  if  a  vein  of  colder  air  blew  across  me."  He 
seemed  to  expect  from  me,  —  once  especially  in  Wai- 
den  wood,— a  full  acknowledgment  of  his  mission, 
and  a  participation  in  the  same.  Seeing  this,  I  asked 
him  if  he  did  not  see  that  my  thoughts  and  my  po 
sition  were  constitutional,  that  it  would  be  false  and 
impossible  for  me  to  say  his  things  or  try  to  occupy  his 
ground  as  for  him  to  usurp  mine  ?  After  some  frank 
and  full  explanation  he  conceded  this.  When  I  met 


MEMOIR.  17 

him  afterwards,  one  evening  at  my  lecture  in  Boston, 
I  invited  him  to  go  home  to  Mr.  A.'s  with  me  and 
sleep  ;  which  he  did.  He  slept  in  the  room  adjoining 
mine.  Early  next  day,  in  the  gray  dawn,  he  came 
into  my  room,  and  talked  whilst  I  dressed.  He 
said  :  "  When  I  was  in  Concord,  I  tried  to  say  you 
were  also  right;  but  the  Spirit  said  you  were  not 
right.  It  is  just  as  if  I  should  say,  It  is  not  morning, 
but  the  Morning  says,  It  is  the  Morning." 

His  words  were  loaded  with  his  fact.  What  he 
said,  he  held,  was  not  personal  to  him,  was  no  more 
disputable  than  the  shining  of  yonder  sun,  or  the 
blowing  of  this  south  wind. 

At  the  McLean  Asylum  the  patients  severally 
thanked  him  when  he  came  away,  and  told  him  that 
he  had  been  of  great  service  to  them. 

Jones  Very  is  gone  into  the  multitude  as  solitary 
as  Jesus.  In  dismissing  him,  I  seem  to  have  dis 
charged  an  arrow  into  the  heart  of  Society.  Wher 
ever  that  young  enthusiast  goes,  he  will  astonish  and 
disconcert  men  by  dividing  for  them  the  cloud  that 
covers  the  gulf  in  man. 

The  astonishment  in  the  minds  of  the  staid 
citizens  of  Salem  was  already  apparent,  and  as 
his  enthusiasm  increased,  he  quickly  proceeded 
to  disconcert  the  somewhat  formal  clergymen  of 
that  peaceful  city,  by  dividing  for  them  the  cloud 
which  covered  the  gulf  between  the  usual  con 
ventional  observance  of  religious  forms  and  the 
tremendous  demands  involved  in  a  literal  and 
unhesitating  acceptance  of  the  precepts  of  Christ 
and  the  Christian  example.  He  finally  called  on 
2 


18  MEMOIR. 

the  different  members  of  the  profession  and 
offered  to  pray  with  them,  that  they  too  might 
submit  themselves  wholly  to  the  Divine  Will  and 
be  baptized  with  the  Holy  Ghost.  He  was  gen 
erally  received  with  courtesy  and  consideration ; 
but  this  view  of  the  clerical  duty  was  rather  too 
much  for  the  good-nature  of  some  of  the  breth 
ren,  and  they  demanded  that  Mr.  Very  be  shut 
up  in  an  insane  asylum.  His  mother,  however, 
stood  between  him  and  any  forcible  removal, 
though  he  put  himself  for  a  while  under  the  care 
of  Dr.  Bell  at  the  Asylum  in  Somerville,  who 
shortly  sent  him  home,  freed  from  physical  ex 
haustion  and  the  excitement  incident  to  the  vi 
olent  opposition  his  fearless  "  bearing  of  testi 
mony  "  had  naturally  enough  aroused. 

While  under  Dr.  Bell's  care  he  finished  the 
paper  on  Shakespeare,  included  in  the  collection 
made  by  Mr.  Emerson,  together  with  the  other 
admirable  papers  on  Hamlet  and  on  Epic  Poetry. 
This  latter  he  had  delivered  in  Salem  the  winter 
before  as  a  lecture,  and  Miss  Peabody  was  so 
deeply  impressed  with  its  unusual  merit  that  she 
wrote  at  once  to  Mr.  Emerson,  suggesting  his 
inviting  Mr.  Very  to  lecture  in  Concord,  and  the 
advisability  of  his  making  the  acquaintance  of 
this  remarkable  young  man.  This  Mr.  Emerson 
did,  and  wrote  to  Miss  Peabody  under  date  of 
April  5,  1838  :  — 

"  But  what  I  write  for  is  to  thank  again  your  sa- 


19 

parity  that  detects  such  wise  men  as  Mr.  Very,  from 
whose  conversation  and  lecture  I  have  had  a  true 
and  high  satisfaction.  I  heartily  congratulate  my 
self  on  being,  as  it  were,  anew  in  such  company." 

Several  times  in  the  course  of  this  year  Mr. 
Emerson  writes  to  Miss  Peabody  of  the  satisfac 
tion  he  has  had  in  visits  from  Mr.  Very,  and  in 
November  he  writes  to  Mr.  Very  thanking  him 
for  lectures  and  sonnets  which  he  "  loves,"  and 
has  had  copied,  and  reads  "  to  all  who  have  ears 
to  hear."  "  Do  not,"  Mr.  Emerson  adds,  "  Do 
not,  I  beg  of  you,  let  a  whisper  or  a  sigh  of  the 
Muse  go  unattended  to,  or  unrecorded.  The 
sentiment  which  inspires  your  poetry  is  so  deep 
and  true,  and  the  expression  so  simple,  that  I  am 
sure  you  will  find  your  audience  very  large." 

In  the  following  June  Mr.  Emerson  writes  to 
Miss  Peabody :  — 

"I  cannot  persuade  Mr.  Very  to  remain  with  me 
another  day.  He  says  he  is  not  permitted,  and  no 
assurances  that  his  retirement  shall  be  secured  are 
of  any  avail.  He  has  been  serene,  intelligent,  and 
true  in  all  the  conversation  I  have  had  with  him. 
He  gives  me  pleasure  and  much  relief,  after  all  I  had 
heard  concerning  him." 

Mr.  Emerson  adds  he  shall  himself  go  to 
town  and  attend  to  the  publication  of  Mr.  Very's 
book. 

From  Mr.  Very's  letters  of  this  period  to  Mr. 
Emerson  we  can  see  how  truly  his  verses  reflect 


20  MEMOIR. 

his  mental  condition  at  that  time.     He  writes  to 
Mr.  Emerson  in  September,  1838  :  — 

"I  am  glad  at  last  to  be  able  to  transmit  what 
has  been  told  me  of  Shakespeare  —  't  is  but  the  faint 
echo  of  that  which  speaks  to  you  now.  .  .  .  You 
hear  not  mine  own  words,  but  the  teachings  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  ...  My  friend,  I  tell  you  these  things 
as  they  are  told  me,  and  hope  soon  for  a  day  or  two 
of  leisure,  when  I  may  speak  to  you  face  to  face  as 
I  now  write." 

In  November  of  the  same  year  he  writes  :  — 

«' I  was  glad  to  hear  that  my  stay  with  you  was 
improving,  and  that  you  love  that  which  is  spoken 
by  the  Word.  If  you  love  it  aright,  in  the  spirit  of 
obedience,  it  shall  be  unto  you  given  to  hear  and 
speak  of  the  Father  in  Christ.  .  .  .  You  must  pass 
out  of  that  world  in  which  you  are,  naked  (that  is, 
willess)  as  you  came  in.  Then  shall  you  have  a 
new  will  born  of  the  Spirit,  and  when  this  also  is 
submitted  to  the  Father's  you  shall  be  one  with 
Him;  that  is,  be  prepared  to  see  Him  as  a  spirit. 
Every  scribe  instructed  in  the  Kingdom  shall  bring 
forth,  as  a  householder,  new  and  old;  that  is,  he 
himself  shall  hear  the  word  of  the  Father,  and  anew 
interpret  for  men  the  old.  But  so  far  have  the  false 
Christs  failed  in  this  life,  that  they  do  not  even 
claim  to  hear  of  themselves  the  Word,  and  vainly 
attempt  to  bring  forth  that  once  spoken." 

He  sends  some  poems  of  his  own  Mr.  Emer 
son  has  asked  for,  and  says  :  — 

"  I  was  wearied  much  by  a  few  days'  stay  in  Cam- 


MEMOIR.  21 

bridge,  but  am  now  as  if  with  you  again  and  well ; 
waiting  for  that  daily  direction  which  is  a  path  un 
seen  through  the  world  and  its  visible  evils ;  —  in 
which  that  we  all  may  walk  forever  and  ever  I  pray 
always." 

Again  he  writes,  with  more  poems  :  — 

"  I  send  you  these  by  letter  that  they  may  come 
earlier  to  hand.  I  hardly  dared  to  write  them,  and 
that  will  excuse  me  from  a  letter.  They  are  the 
true  letter,  as  I  am  true.  There  is  more  joy  and  free 
dom  as  I  advance,  yet  still  I  long  to  be  clothed  upon 
with  my  house  from  heaven.  In  you,  too,  may  more 
of  the  old  pass  away,  and  the  new  and  abiding  be 
more  and  more  felt.  This  I  pray  forever,  as 

"lam  J.  VERY." 

Among  Mr.  Emerson's  papers  were  also  some 
formal  epistles  of  Mr.  Very's,  setting  forth  his 
ideas  more  at  length.  In  one,  on  the  subject  of 
Prayer,  he  says  :  — 

"lie  who  is  born  "  [he  means  by  this,  born  anew 
into  this  spirit  of  utter  self-abnegation]  "  is  alone  said 
by  God,  or  in  Scripture  language,  to  deny  himself. 
This  is  prayer  !  And  by  it  you  show  that  you  love 
the  brethren,  because  you  cannot  love  more  than 
this,  that  you  accomplish  the  entire  denial  of  the  life 
you  have  attained  unto  by  being  born.  .  .  .  This 
is  prayer,  in  sincerity  ever  to  love  your  neighbor  as 
yourself.  It  [that  is,  the  new  birth  in  the  Spirit] 
has  not  really  begun  till  then.  When  you,  who  are 
unborn,  are  using  words  to  which  you  give  that 
name,  there  is  no  agency  at  work  benefiting  those  for 


22  MEMOIR. 

whom  you  thus  speak.  ...  It  is  your  words  which 
are  proceeding  from  your  inward  growth  or  back 
wardness  that  convey  this  influence  to  others.  Use 
what  language  you  will,  you  can  never  say  any 
thing  but  what  you  are.  Whoever  lives  better  than 
you  knows  what  you  are  really  saying,  whatever  the 
sounds  of  your  lips.  The  Spirit  will  always  work, 
whether  it  be  good,  or  whether  it  be  evil." 

Again  he  says,  in  the  epistle  on  "  Miracles : "  — 

"  One  may  forward  you  who  is  living  the  same  life, 
or  passing  toward  the  same  life  as  yourself;  he  alone 
can  raise  you,  or  act  upon  you  wl  h  a  power  different 
from  your  own,  who  lives  that  other  life,  and  has  al 
ready  passed  before  you  into  it.  ...  As  in  a  glass 
face  answers  to  face,  so  will  my  heart  then  answer 
to  yours.  Now  you  see  me,  if  sight  it  may  be  called, 
externally,  with  an  unchanged  spirit;  then  face  to 
face.  Now  you  make  me  what  I  am  to  you;  then 
you  shall  see  me  as  I  AM  ;  for  you  yourself  will  be 
made  like  unto  me.  Then  shall  you  know  that  it 
was  /  who  called  you  forth  from  the  grave  ;  it  was  / 
who  raised  you  from  the  bed  of  sickness;  and  you 
will  arise  and  minister  unto  me." 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  gentlemen 
engaged  in  plodding  along  pleasant  ministerial 
highways  did  not  relish  this  sort  of  light  in  their 
quiet  studies  of  a  Monday  morning,  and  declared 
the  presumptuous  young  person  to  be  hopelessly 
insane,  and  in  league  with  the  Arch  Enemy. 

Mr.  Very's  own  life  as  a  minister,  when  he 
recovered  his  health,  and,  in  1843,  was  licensed 


MEMOIR.  23 

to  preach  by  the  Cambridge  Association  of 
Ministers,  was  never  a  "  popular  "  success  ;  but 
after  his  death  the  truth  of  what  he  here  says  of 
the  strength  of  this  unseen  influence  was  forcibly 
illustrated  in  many  unsought  testimonials  to  the 
inspiration  his  life  had  been  to  all  sorts  and  con 
ditions  of  men.  "To  have  walked  with  Very," 
said  a  brother  clergyman,  "  was  truly  to  have 
walked  with  God."  So  filled  was  his  spirit  with 
the  immanence  of  the  encircling  Power  Divine. 
"  I  told  my  people,"  said  a  singularly  eloquent 
preacher,  "  that  to  see  Very  for  half  an  hour  in 
my  pulpit,  and  know  that  such  a  man  existed  in 
the  world,  was  a  far  greater  sermon  than  any 
ever  preached  to  them  from  the  lips  of  an  ora 
tor."  And  a  sportsman  remarked  to  the  writer : 
"  I  don't  set  up  to  be  a  religious  man ;  but  you 
could  n't  meet  Very  in  the  fields  without  feeling 
better  for  it  somehow."  It  is  a  noticeable  fact 
that  this  feeling  for  Mr.  Very  knew  no  bounds 
of  sect,  or  of  intellectual  attainment.  It  was 
indeed  an  "  o'erflowing  well,"  of  whose  cool 
waters  all  men  gladly  drank,  and  "owned  its 
source  Divine." 

"  He  was  as  good,"  said  his  life-long  friend, 
the  Rev.  Robert  C.  Waterston,  "  as  goodness  it 
self,  true  as  truth.  With  his  knowledge  and 
wisdom,  he  was  as  simple  as  a  child,  transparent, 
artless.  He  was  the  extremest  possible  distance 
from  pomposity  or  pretension.  When  he  be- 


24  MEMOIR. 

lieved  that  the  poetry,  which  came  to  him  like 
the  breath  of  heaven,  did  actually  come  from 
Heaven,  it  was  so  naturally  and  simply  said, 
that  you  felt  it  was  his  profoundest  conviction. 
He  believed  fully  and  intensely  that  the  Lord  of 
Life  gave  it  to  him.  It  was  a  sacred  idea,  a 
Divine  Reality." 

This  nearness  of  the  Divine  Presence  was  to 
Mr.  Very  the  great  fact  of  life.  He  felt  it  to  be 
so  intensely  real  and  vital  that  he  was  inexpress 
ibly  grieved,  as  he  looked  around  among  his  fel 
lows  for  men  who  thus  "  walked  with  God,"  to 
find  how  much  alone  he  stood ;  and  he  breaks  out 
into  a  wail  of  lamentation  that  men  are  dead  to 
the  glory  round  them,  and  in  a  bondage  worse 
than  slavery.  He  "  cannot  tell  the  sorrows  that 
he  feels  "  for  his  brethren  dying  in  the  hideous 
darkness  of  a  prison,  when  they  should  be  work 
ing  with  and  enjoying  with  the  Father. 

His  own  intense,  contemplative  piety  had  lifted 
him  out  of  what  he  regarded  as  "the  grave  "  of 
the  senses,  above  the  world,  into  that  condition  of 
"  inward  peace,  the  sweet  patience  "  which  the 
Buddhist  calls  Nirvana.  In  the  height  of  his 
ecstasy  he  would  sit  for  hours  wrapt  in  thought 
and  gazing  off  into  the  Infinite.  Like  the  saintly 
Buddhs,  he  seemed  long  since  to  have  slain  the 
"love  of  self,  false  faith,  and  doubt/'  and,  con 
queror  over  "the  love  of  life  on  earth,  desire  for 
heaven,  self-praise,  error,  and  pride,"  he  had  be 
come 


MEMOIR.  25 

"  As  one  who  stands  on  yonder  snowy  horn, 
Having  naught  o'er  him  but  the  boundless  blue, 
For,  these  sins  being  slain,  the  man  had  come 
Nirvana's  verge  unto." 

The  considerate  and  tender  manner  in  which 
everything  was  done  for  Mr.  Very  removed  this 
undue  exhilaration  under  which  he  was  acting, 
and  restored  the  ordinary  balance  of  his  faculties. 
Yet  he  retained  to  the  last,  though  he  ceased 
to  go  about  promulgating  it,  his  great  idea  : 
that  every  man  who  made  the  complete  sacrifice 
of  self  necessary  to  the  identification  with,  the 
hiding  in  Christ,  would  become  the  voice  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  He  believed  himself  to  have  done 
so.  He,  however,  never  assumed  the  role  of  a 
proselyter.  His  whole  duty  was  to  utter  the 
words  "  given  "  him  ;  he  was  not  responsible  for 
their  effect  or  non-effect  on  others.  He  printed 
his  verses  in  the  columns  of  the  local  papers  pub 
lished  in  his  native  town ;  but  was  in  no  hurry  to 
get  them  before  the  world.  As  we  have  seen,  he 
did  not  feel  at  liberty  even  to  correct  them  for 
the  press,  but  allowed  Mr.  Emerson's  repeated 
solicitation  to  prevail,  in  want  of  any  direct  "  lead 
ing  ''  to  publish  them  himself ;  and  the  first  and, 
except  the  present,  the  only  collection  of  Mr. 
Very's  writings  — fifty  sonnets  in  the  Shakespear 
ean  form,  a  few  lyrics,  and  three  prose  essays 
—  accordingly  appeared,  at  the  request  of  Mr. 
Emerson,  from  the  house  of  Messrs.  Little  & 
Brown  in  1839. 


26  MEMOIR. 

That  edition  was  never  reprinted,  though  it 
was  long  since  exhausted  ;  and  among  Mr.  Very's 
letters  many  requests  from  Mr.  Dana  and  other 
friends  were  found  for  more  copies,  for  which 
they  had  searched  the  bookstores  in  vain. 

The  present  collection  has  been  compiled  with 
a  view  of  showing  the  history  of  this  remarkable 
spiritual  experience  connectedly ;  and  the  selec 
tions  in  this  volume  are,  therefore,  mainly  such 
as  seem  moved  by  this  Divine  afflatus,  this  unique 
exaltation  of  spirit,  which  made  so  profound  an 
impression  upon  his  contemporaries.  This  lasted, 
however,  only  during  the  limited  period  described 
(i.  e.  1838  and  parts  of  1837-39),  though  he 
continued  to  the  end  of  his  life  to  write  and  print 
new  verses  as  before.  Some  of  these  later  pro 
ductions  are  included  in  the  present  volume,  and 
all  have  the  same  outward  excellence  of  form 
which  marked  his  earlier,  more  inspired  meas 
ures,  though  they  are  quite  unimpassioned,  and 
simple  to  a  degree.  Yet  in  all  that  he  has  done, 
—  however  unattractive  it  may  prove  to  the 
purely  literary  critic,  —  AVC  find  the  same  delicate 
aroma  of  his  gentle  and  gracious  spirit,  and  it  is 
always  an  unconscious  utterance  of  devout  and 
pure  aspiration. 

After  this  excessive  exhilaration  had  subsided 
into  the  serene  calm  of  his  later  existence,  he  lived 
on  very  quietly  in  the  family  home  with  his  sis 
ters,  —  his  mother  and  brother  having  died  many 


MEMOIR.  27 

years  before  his  own  death.  He  was  not  married, 
and  seems  to  have  found  his  domestic  happiness 
in  the  original  family  circle.  Occasionally  he 
would  go  from  home  for  a  short  time  to  supply 
some  Unitarian  pulpit,  but  he  was  not  perma 
nently  settled,  and  he  remained,  as  he  says,  "  a 
laborer  but  in  heart."  That  labor  was,  however, 
so  sincere,  that  his  influence,  as  we  have  seen, 
was  much  deeper  and  more  wide-spread  than  that 
of  many  shepherds  whose  sheep  are  gathered 
together  into  close-barred  and  visible  folds.  He 
was  always  the  still,  small  voice  apart  from  the 
bustle  of  humanity,  and  —  but  that  his  intense 
love  of  Nature  and  ever-present  sense  of  Deity 
peopled  the  loneliest  solitudes  with  his  friends  — 
his  life  must  have  been  somewhat  monotonous 
and  dreary.  That  he  did  at  times  feel  the  want 
of  a  vital  human  sympathy  near  at  hand,  is  evi 
dent  from  a  letter  to  his  friend  Mr.  Waterston, 
written  in  1868,  in  which  he  says  :  — 

"  Those  were  indeed  pleasant  and  precious  days, 
when  we  enjoyed  so  much  each  other's  companionship 
at  Cambridge.  Then  thoughts  and  feelings  were 
freely  interchanged  and  our  lives  were  blended  in 
one.  There  is  nothing,"  he  adds,  "  which  we  miss 
more  in  our  manhood  than  that  delightful  commun 
ion  which  we  enjoyed  with  early  friends.  Such  an 
intercourse  and  communion  it  is  we  are  toiling  all 
our  lives  to  find,  —  not  perhaps  to  be  renewed  here, 
but  which  we  hope  is  reserved  to  continue  forever  in 
heaven.'* 


28  MEMOIR. 

His  life  was,  indeed,  peculiarly  uneventful; 
though  never  that  of  an  intentional  recluse.  His 
mornings  were  spent  in  study  and  a  somewhat 
general  course  of  scientific  and  literary  reading ; 
and  his  afternoons  in  rambles  over  the  rocky 
hills  and  through  the  mossy  dells  of  the  wild 
pasture  land  surrounding  the  upper  portion  of 
his  native  city.  These  wanderings  were  gener 
ally  unaccompanied ;  for,  though  all  sorts  of  men 
liked  to  walk  with  him,  his  contemplative,  in 
trospective  habit  of  mind  kept  him  rather  apart 
from  his  fellows;  albeit  every  one  was  sure  of 
the  kindliest  welcome,  from  the  little  boys,  with 
whom  he  was  indeed  "  a  child  again,"  to  the 
gravest  of  his  clerical  brethren.  His  love  of 
Nature  was  a  passion  "  deeper  far  than  strength 
of  words  can  tell ;  "  or  rather  it  was  more  truly 
a  devotion,  since  it  was  the  Divinity  behind  her 
outward  beauty  which  made  her  all  in  all  to  him, 
and  attuned  his  soul  in  accord  with  her  inmost 
harmonies.  He  would  return  from  these  rambles 
and  put  into  manuscript  the  words  there  "  given  " 
him,  the  bird-like  strains  of  his  wholly  unpre 
meditated  art ;  and  if  they  were  not,  as  he 
thought  them,  the  utterances  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
they  certainly  were  the  melodies  of  Nature. 

Though  at  times  somewhat  disheartened  and 
inclined  to  lament  the  blindness  of  mankind,  he 
in  the  end  is  always  hopeful  and  cheerful,  because 
always  filled  with  unswerving  faith  and  childlike 


MEMOIR.  29 

trust.  So  he  went  about  his  daily  routine,  of 
reading  alike  from  books  and  from  nature  of 
the  Father's  wonders  and  goodness  ;  composing 
verses,  as  Wordsworth  did,  out  of  doors  ;  preach 
ing  when  asked  to,  and  always  striving  to  exert 
in  an  unobtrusive  way  an  influence  for  good. 
However  careless,  light-hearted,  or  bad-hearted 
might  be  those  about  him,  he  greeted  them  all 
with  the  same  grave  courtesy  and  benign,  sweet 
smile ;  and  always  invisibly  clothed  in  his  spot 
less  singing-robes,  wandered  alike  with  God 
through  the  busy  market-place  or  over  the  loved 
hill-side. 

His  brother  poet  and  clergyman,  the  Rev. 
Charles  T.  Brooks,  —  also  a  Salem  boy,  —  speaks 
of  Mr.  Very's  "  peculiarly  sweet  smile,  lighting 
up  that  face  so  singularly  expressive  of  saintly 
simplicity  and  unselfish  translucency  of  soul," 
and  says  "  he  recalled  the  ideal  preacher  in  the 
'  Task  ; '  or  Uhland's  '  Country  Parson.'  "  Izaak 
Walton's  description  of  saintly  George  Herbert 
exactly  pictures  Mr.  Very  as  he  appeared  in 
later  life.1  "He  was,"  says  Walton,  "for  his 
person,  of  a  stature  inclining  towards  tallness  ; 
his  body  was  very  straight,  and  so  far  from  being 

1  In  a  note  on  a  letter  of  Emerson's  to  Carlyle  (Correspondence, 
vol.  i.  p.  333),  accompanying  a  copy  of  Very's  Essays  and  Poems, 
which  Emerson  requests  Carlyle  to  show  to  Sterling  "  and  ask  him 
if  they  have  not  a  grandeur,"  Mr.  Charles  Eliot  Norton  observes  : 
"A  little  volume,  the  work  of  an  exquisite  spirit.  Some  of  the 
poems  it  contains  are  as  if  written  by  a  George  Herbert  who  had 
studied  Shakespeare,  read  Wordsworth,  and  lived  in  America." 


30  MEMOIR. 

cumbered  with  too  much  flesh,  that  he  was  lean 
to  an  extremity.  His  aspect  was  cheerful,  and 
his  speech  and  motion  did  both  declare  him  a 
gentleman ;  for  they  were  all  so  meek  and  oblig 
ing,  that  they  purchased  love  and  respect  from 
all  that  knew  him." 

There  was  something  in  his  personal  appear 
ance  and  manner,  as  well  as  in  the  inspired  ca 
dences  of  his  Saxon  verse,  which  always  reminded 
one  of  a  more  gracious  and  tranquil  past.  Not 
that  he  was  more  conservative  in  his  dress  than 
many  of  his  contemporaries  in  the  quiet  old  town 
in  which  he  lived  and  died;  yet,  when  one  saw 
the  tall,  slight  figure  outlined  against  a  glowing 
twilight  sky,  gazing  off  from  some  of  the  craggy 
hill-tops  over  which  he  loved  to  ramble ;  or  per 
haps  disappearing  down  a  distant  valley  mellowed 
with  the  golden  afternoon  sunlight,  — 

"  Rapt,  twirling  in  his  hand  a  withered  spray, 
And  waiting  for  the  spark  from  heaven  to  fall," 

it  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  a  gentle  presence  had 
wandered  here,  from  another  world  than  ours. 

"  To  look  at  him,  to  know  him,"  said  his  friend 
and  admirer,  Mr.  E.  A.  Silsbee,  "was  to  see 
Genius.  He  moved  in  Salem  like  Dante  among 
the  Florentines  :  a  man  who  had  seen  God ;  .  .  . 
and  drew  his  inspiration  from  the  Spirit  itself, 
far  away  in  the  soul,  where  no  ambition  comes, 
but  only  lowliness,  humility,  and  seeking." 


MEMOIR.  31 

On  the  8th  of  May,  Anno  Domini  1880,  in 
the  home  where  so  much  of  his  simple  existence 
had  been  passed,  his  weary  eyes  closed  for  the 
last  time  in  sleep,  and  he  fully  entered  that  "  New 
Birth  "  which  he  had  long  since  sung  in  some  of 
his  noblest  numbers. 

"  The  flower  that  on  the  lovely  hill-side  grows  " 

in  vain  expects  him  there  when  Spring  has  given 
its  bloom  again  ;  but  many  a  tree  and  bush  his 
wanderings  know,  and,  as  the  sweet  birds  sing 
on,  their  spirit-songs, 

"  And  e'en  the  clouds  and  silent  stars  of  heaven  " 
repeat  his  solemn  story. 

WILLIAM  P.  ANDREWS. 

SALEM,  MASS.,  March,  1883. 


POEMS. 


JONES    VERY. 

We  thought :  the  morning  birds  have  ceased  to  sing. 

We  hear  but  songs  from  out  a  gilded  cage ; 
When  to  our  August  noon  a  breath  of  Spring 

Brought  us  a  strain  from  out  another  age; 
The  sultry  airs  no  longer  round  us  blew, 

The  whole  wide  earth  took  on  a  living  green, 
Flowers  bloomed  again  where  erst  in  Spring  they  grew. 

And  beckoned  where  but  sun-dried  heath  had  been. 

0  Saint  and  Poet !  on  our  world-worn  time, 
Thy  waiting  spirit  breathed  that  quick' ning  lay; 

Thy  rapt  soul  heard  the  harmonies  sublime. 
And  sang  the  music  of  a  loftier  day ; 

The  Soul  of  all  things  in  thy  pulses  stirred, 

And  soared  in  praises  like  the  morning  bird. 

W.P.  A. 


€l)e  Call, 


POEMS. 


THOU  springest  from  the  ground,  and  may  not  I 
From  Him  who  spreads  thy  branches  high  and 

wide ; 

And  from  the  scorching  sun  and  stormy  sky 
May  I  not  too  with  friendly  shelter  hide  ? 
There  is  no  shade  like  thine  to  shield  the  poor 
From  the  hot  scorching  words  that  meet  the  ear ; 
The  snowy,  frozen  flakes  they  must  endure 
Of  those  whose  hearts  have  never  shed  a  tear ; 
Yet  He  who  shoots  thy  leafy  fabric  high, 
Shall  in  my  verse  spread  wide  a  tempering  screen, 
And  when  oppressed  with  heat  his  sons  pass  by, 
With  hastening  feet  they  '11  seek  its  arches  green, 
And  bless  the  Father  who  has  o'er  them  spread 
A  tent  of  verdure  for  each  aching  head. 


(£0  (Jim  t&at  |)at&  gjjall  be 

WHY  readest  thou  ?  thou  canst  not  gain  the  life 
The  spirit  leads,  but  by  the  spirit's  toil ; 
The  labor  of  the  body  is  not  strife 
Such  as  will  give  to  thee  the  wine  and  oil ; 


38  VERTS  POEMS. 

To  him  who  hath,  to  him  my  verse  shall  give, 
And  he  the  more  from  all  he  does  shall  gain ; 
The  spirit's  life  he  too  shall  learn  to  live, 
And  share  on  earth  in  hope  the  spirit's  pain ; 
Be  taught  of  God;  none  else  can  teach  thee  aught; 
He  will  thy  steps  forever  lead  aright ; 
The  life  is  all  that  He  his  sons  has  taught ; 
Obey  within,  and  thou  shalt  see  its  light, 
And  gather  from  its  beams  a  brighter  ray, 
To  cheer  thee  on  along  thy  doubtful  way. 


ears  to  !j)ear,  let  Jim  J)ear. 

THE  sun  doth  not  the  hidden  place  reveal, 
Whence  pours  at  morn  his  golden  flood  of  light ; 
But  what  the  night's  dark  breast  would  fain  con 
ceal, 

In  its  true  colors  stands  before  our  sight ; 
The  bird  doth  not  betray  the  secret  springs, 
Whence  note  on  note  her  music  sweetly  pours ; 
Yet  turns  the  ear  attentive  while  she  sings, 
The  willing  heart,  while  falls  the  strain,  adores. 
So  shall  the  Spirit  tell  not  whence  its  birth, 
But  in  its  light  thine  untold  deeds  lay  bare ; 
And  while  it  walks  with  thee,  flesh-clothed,  the 

earth, 

Its  words  shall  of  the  Father's  love  declare  ; 
And  happy  those  whose  ears  shall  hail  its  voice, 
And  clean  within  the  day  it  gives  rejoice. 


THE   CALL.  39 


FATHER,  I  wait  thy  word.     The  sun  doth  stand 
Beneath  the  mingling  line  of  night  and  day, 
A  listening  servant,  waiting  thy  command 
To  roll  rejoicing  on  its  silent  way ; 
The  tongue  of  time  abides  the  appointed  hour, 
Till  on  our  ear  its  solemn  warnings  fall; 
The  heavy  cloud  withholds  the  pelting  shower, 
Then  every  drop  speeds  onward  at  thy  call ; 
The  bird  reposes  on  the  yielding  bough, 
With  breast  unswollen  by  the  tide  of  song ; 
So  does  my  spirit  wait  thy  presence  now 
To  pour  thy  praise  in  quickening  life  along, 
Chiding  with  voice  divine  man's  lengthened  sleep, 
While  round  the  Unuttered  Word  and  Love  their 
vigils  keep. 


3fn  J)tm  toe  itoe. 

FATHER  !  I  bless  thy  name  that  I  do  live, 
And  in  each  motion  am  made  rich  with  Thee, 
That  when  a  glance  is  all  that  I  can  give, 
It  is  a  kingdom's  wealth,  if  I  but  see ; 
This  stately  body  cannot  move,  save  I 
Will  to  its  nobleness  my  little  bring ; 
My  voice  its  measured  cadence  will  not  try, 


40  VERTS  POEMS. 

Save  I  with  every  note  consent  to  sing ; 
I  cannot  raise  my  hands  to  hurt  or  bless, 
But  I  with  every  action  must  conspire 
To  show  me  there  how  little  I  possess, 
And  yet  that  little  more  than  I  desire ; 
May  each  new  act  my  new  allegiance  prove, 
Till  in  thy  perfect  love  I  ever  live  and  move. 


THERE  is  no  moment  but  whose  flight  doth  bring 
Bright  clouds  and  fluttering  leaves  to  deck  my 

bower ; 

And  I,  within,  like  some  sweet  bird  must  sing 
To  tell  the  story  of  the  passing  hour ; 
For  time  has  secrets  that  no  bird  has  sung, 
Nor  changing  leaf  with  changing  season  told ; 
They  wait  the  utterance  of  some  nobler  tongue 
Like  that  which  spoke  in  prophet  tones  of  old  ; 
Then  day  and  night,  and  month  and  year  shall 

tell 
The  tale  that  speaks  but  faint  from  bird  and 

bough ; 

In  spirit-songs  their  praise  shall  upward  swell, 
Nor  longer  pass  heaven's  gate  unheard  as  now, 
But  cause  e'en  angels'  ears  to  catch  the  strain, 
And  send  it  back  to  earth  in  joy  again. 


THE   CALL.  41 


THOU  mak'st  nie  poor  that  I  enriched  by  Thee 
May  tell  thy  love  to  those  who  know  it  not ; 
And  rise  within  thy  heavens  a  star  to  be, 
When  they,  thine  earthly  suns,  are  all  forgot ; 
Grant  that  my  light  may  through  their  darkness 

shine 
With    increased     splendor     from     the     parent 

source, 

A  diamond  fashioned  by  the  hand  divine 
To  hold  forever  on  its  measured  course ; 
But  I  am  dark  as  yet,  but  soon  the  light 
Of  thy  bright  morning  star  on  me  shall  dawn,  — 
Sure  herald  that  the  curtain  of  the  night 
Forever  from  my  orb  shall  be  withdrawn, 
And  its  pure  beams  thy  rays  shall  ever  boast, 
Shining  accepted  'mid  the  starry  host. 


I  IDLE  stand  that  I  may  find  employ, 
Such  as  my  Master  when  He  comes  will  give ; 
I  cannot  find  in  mine  own  work  my  joy, 
But  wait,  although  in  waiting  I  must  live ; 
My  body  shall  not  turn  which  way  it  will, 
But  .stand  till  I  the  appointed  road  can  find, 


42  VERTS  POEMS. 

And  journeying  so  his  messages  fulfill, 

And  do  at  every  step  the  work  designed. 

Enough  for  me,  still  day  by  day  to  wait 

Till  Thou  who  form'st  me  find'st  me  too  a  task ; 

A  cripple  lying  at  the  rich  man's  gate, 

Content  for  the  few  crumbs  I  get  to  ask ; 

A  laborer  but  in  heart,  while  bound  my  hands 

Hang  idly  down  still  waiting  thy  commands. 


|)antJ  anil  foot. 

THE  hand  and  foot  that  stir  not,  they  shall  find 
Sooner  than  all  the  rightful  place  to  go  : 
Now  in  their  motion  free  as  roving  wind, 
Though  first  no  snail  so  limited  and  slow ; 
I  mark  them  full  of  labor  all  the  day, 
Each  active  motion  made  in  perfect  rest ; 
They  cannot  from  their  path  mistaken  stray, 
Though  't  is  not  theirs,  yet  in  it  they  are  blest ; 
The  bird  has  not  their  hidden  track  found  out, 
The  cunning  fox  though  full  of  art  he  be ; 
It  is  the  way  unseen,  the  certain  route, 
Where  ever  bound,  yet  thou  art  ever  free  ; 
The  path  of  Him,  whose  perfect  law  of  love 
Bids  spheres  and  atoms  in  just  order  move. 


THE  CALL.  43 


(ZT&e  Disciple, 

THOU  wilt  my  hands  employ,  though  others  find 
No  work  for  those  who  praise  thy  name  aright ; 
And  in  their  worldly  wisdom  call  them  blind, 
Whom  Thou  hast  blest  with  thine  own  Spirit's 

sight. 

But  while  they  find  no  work  for  Thee  to  do, 
And  blindly  on  themselves  alone  rely ; 
The  child  must  suffer  what  Thou  sufferest  too, 
And  learn  from  him  Thou  send'st  e'en  so  to  die ; 
Thou  art  my  Father,  Thou  wilt  give  me  aid 
To  bear  the  wrong  the  spirit  suffers  here ; 
Thou  hast  thy  help  upon  the  mighty  laid  ;  — 
In  Thee  I  trust,  nor  know  to  want  or  fear, 
But  ever  onward  walk,  secure  from  sin, 
For  Thou  hast  conquered  every  foe  within. 


Clap, 

THOU  shalt  do  what  Thou  wilt  with  thine  own 

hand, 

Thou  form'st  the  spirit  like  the  moulded  clay; 
For  those  who  love  Thee  keep  thy  just  command, 
And  in  thine  image  grow  as  they  obey  ; 
New  tints  and  forms  with  every  hour  they  take 
Whose  life  is  fashioned  by  thy  Spirit's  power ; 


44  VERTS  POEMS. 

The  crimson  dawn  is  round   them  when   they 

wake, 

And  golden  triumphs  wait  the  evening  hour ; 
The  queenly-sceptred  night  their  souls  receives, 
And  spreads  their  pillows  'neath  her  sable  tent ; 
Above  them  Sleep  their  palm  with  poppy  weaves, 
Sweet  rest  Thou  hast  to  all  who  labor  lent ; 
That  they  may  rise  refreshed  to  light  again 
And  with  Thee  gather  in  the  whitening  grain. 


I  WOULD  lie  low  —  the  ground  on  which  men 

tread  — 

Swept  by  thy  Spirit  like  the  wind  of  heaven ; 
An  earth,  where  gushing  springs  and  corn  for 

bread 

By  me  at  every  season  should  be  given ; 
Yet  not  the  water  or  the  bread  that  now 
Supplies  their  tables  with  its  daily  food, 
But  they  should  gather  fruit  from  every  bough, 
Such  as  Thou  givest  me,  and  call  it  good  ; 
And  water  from  the  stream  of  life  should  flow, 
By  every  dwelling  that  thy  love  has  built, 
Whose  taste  the  ransomed  of  thy  Son  shall  know, 
Whose  robes  are  washed  from  every  stain   of 

guilt ; 

And  men  would  own  it  was  thy  hand  that  blest, 
And  from  my  bosom  find  a  surer  rest. 


THE  CALL.  45 


(ZT&e  Btoer. 

OH  !  swell  my  bosom  deeper  with  thy  love, 
That  I  some  river's  widening  mouth  may  be ; 
And  ever  on,  for  many  a  mile  above, 
May  flow  the  floods  that  enter  from  thy  sea ; 
And  may  they  not  retreat  as  tides  of  earth, 
Save  but  to  show   from   Thee  that  they  have 

flown, 

Soon  may  my  spirit  find  that  better  birth, 
Where  the  retiring  wave  is  never  known ; 
But  Thou  dost  flow  through  every  channel  wide, 
With  all  a  Father's  love  in  every  soul ; 
A  stream  that  knows  no  ebb,  a  swelling  tide 
That  rolls  forever  on  and  finds  no  goal, 
Till  in  the  hearts  of  all  shall  opened  be 
The  ocean  depths  of  thine  eternity. 


I  BUILD  a  house,  but  in  this  't  will  appear 
That  I  have  built  it  not,  a  shining  forth 
Of  that  bright  palace  that  from  year  to  year 
New  pillars  has  and  domes  from  mine  own  worth ; 
The  wondrous  hand  that  forms  it,  in  the  sea, 
In  crystal  depths  fashions  the  coral  pile, 
The  sun-lit  roof  that  o'er  our  heads  we  see, 


46  VERTS  POEMS. 

Earth's  grassy  plain  that  stretches  many  a  mile  ; 

JT  is  round  me  like  the  morning's  presence,  felt 

As  that  in  which  apart  I  live  from  all ; 

A  zone  that  girds  me  like  Orion's  belt, 

That  I  be  seen  the  more  on  that  bright  wall, 

Where  all  as  golden  constellations  shine 

With  their  own  light,  yet  lit  with  Light  Divine. 


unto  Dap  titteretl) 

I  WOULD  adorn  the  day  and  give  it  voice, 
That  it  should  sing  with  praises  meet  for  Thee ; 
For  none  but  man  can  bid  it  so  rejoice, 
That  it  shall  seem  a  joyful  day  to  me ; 
Break  forth  ye  hearts  that  frozen  winters  bind 
In  icy  chains  more  strong  than  close  the  year ! 
Look  up !  the  day,  the  day,  ye  suffering  blind ! 
Ye  deaf,  its  notes  of  welcome  come  and  hear ! 
Bid  it  the  joy  your  hearts  have  long  supprest 
Give  back  to  you  in  new  awakening  strains ; 
To  rouse  the  sinful  from  their  guilty  rest, 
And  break  the  captive's  more  than  iron  chains ; 
It  shall  arise  with  healing  in  its  beams, 
And   wake  the  nations  from   their   lengthened 
dreams. 


CJje 


'T  is  a  new  life ;  —  thoughts  move  not  as  they 

did, 

With  slow  uncertain  steps  across  my  mind  ; 
In  thronging  haste  fast  pressing  on  they  bid 
The  portals  open  to  the  viewless  wind, 
That  comes  not  save  when  in  the  dust  is  laid 
The  crown  of  pride  that  gilds  each  mortal  brow, 
And  from  before  man's  vision  melting  fade 
The  heavens  and  earth ;  —  their  walls  are  falling 

now.    / 
Fast  crowding  on,  each  thought  asks  utterance 

strong  ; 

Storm-lifted  waves  swift  rushing  to  the  shore, 
On  from  the  sea  they  send  their  shouts  along, 
Back  through  the  cave-worn  rocks  their  thunders 

roar  ; 

And  I,  a  child  of  God  by  Christ  made  free, 
Start  from  death's  slumbers  to  eternity. 


50  VERTS  POEMS. 


JBeto 

THE  night  that  has  no  star  lit  up  by  God, 

The  day  that  round  men  shines  who  still  ar< 

blind, 

The  earth  their  grave-turned  feet  for  ages  trod, 
And  sea  swept  over  by  His  mighty  wind,  — 
All  these  have  passed  away ;  —  the  melting  drean 
That  flitted  o'er  the  sleeper's  half-shut  eye, 
When    touched     by    morning's     golden-darting 

beam ;  — 

And  he  beholds  around  the  earth  and  sky 
That  ever  real  stands,  the  rolling  shores 
And  heaving  billows  of  the  boundless  main, 
That  show,  though  time  is  past,  no  trace  of  years 
And  earth  restored  he  sees  as  his  again, 
The  earth  that  fades  not  and  the  heavens  tha 

stand, 
Their   strong  foundations   laid   by   God's   righ 

hand. 


<0artren. 


I  SAW  the  spot  where  our  first  parents  dwelt  ; 
And  yet  it  wore  to  me  no  face  of  change, 
For  while  amid  its  fields  and  groves,  I  felt 
As  if  I  had  not  sinned,  nor  thought  itstrange  ; 


THE  NEW  BIRTH.  51 

My  eye  seemed  but  a  part  of  every  sight, 
My  ear  heard  music  in  each  sound  that  rose ; 
Each  sense  forever  found  a  new  delight, 
Such  as  the  spirit's  vision  only  knows  ; 
Each  act  some  new  and  ever-varying  joy 
Did  by  my  Father's  love  for  me  prepare ; 
To  dress  the  spot  my  ever  fresh  employ, 
And  in  the  glorious  whole  with  Him  to  share ; 
No  more  without  the  flaming  gate  to  stray, 
No  more  for  sin's  dark  stain  the  debt  of  death  to 
pay. 


(ZT&e  Presence. 

I  SIT  within  my  room,  and  joy  to  find 
That  Thou,  who  always  lov'st,  art  with  me  here ; 
That  I  am  never  left  by  Thee  behind, 
But  by  thyself  Thou  keep'st  me  ever  near. 
The  fire  burns  brighter  when  with  Thee  I  look, 
And  seems  a  kinder  servant  sent  to  me ; 
With  gladder  heart  I  read  thy  holy  book, 
Because  Thou  art  the  eyes  by  which  I  see ; 
This  aged  chair,  that  table,  watch,  and  door 
Around  in  ready  service  ever  wait ; 
Nor  can  I  ask  of  Thee  a  menial  more 
To  fill  the  measure  of  my  large  estate, 
For  Thou  thyself,  with  all  a  Father's  care, 
Where'er  I  turn,  art  ever  with  me  there. 


52  VERTS  POEMS. 


C&e  Spirit  lanfc. 

FATHER  !  thy  wonders  do  not  singly  stand, 

Nor  far  removed  where  feet  have  seldom  strayed 

Around  us  ever  lies  the  enchanted  land, 

In  marvels  rich  to  thine  own  sons  displayed. 

In  finding  Thee  are  all  things  round  us  found ; 

In  losing  Thee  are  all  things  lost  "beside  : 

Ears  have  we,  hut  in  vain  strange  voices  sound, 

And  to  our  eyes  the  vision  is  denied ; 

We  wander  in  a  country  far  remote, 

Mid  tombs  and  ruined  piles  in  death  to  dwell ; 

Or  on  the  records  of  past  greatness  dote, 

And  for  a  buried  soul  the  living  sell ; 

While  on  our  path  bewildered  falls  the  night 

That  ne'er  returns  us  to  the  fields  of  light. 


THERE   is   no   change  of   time  and  place  wit! 

Thee; 

Where'er  I  go,  with  me  't  is  still  the  same  ; 
Within  thy  presence  I  rejoice  to  be, 
And  always  hallow  thy  most  holy  name. 
The  world  doth  ever  change ;  there  is  no  peace 
Among  the  shallows  of  its  storm-vexed  breast ; 


THE  NEW  EIRTIL  53 

"With  every  breath  the  frothy  waves  increase, 
They  toss  up  mire  and  dirt,  they  cannot  rest. 
I  thank  Thee  that  within  thy  strong-built  ark 
My  soul  across  the  uncertain  sea  can  sail, 
And  though  the  night  of  death  be  long  and  dark, 
My  hopes  in  Christ  shall  reach  within  the  vail ; 
And  to  the  promised  haven  steady  steer, 
Whose  rest  to  those  who  love  is  ever  near. 


THERE  is  no  death  with  Thee !  each  plant  and 

tree 

In  living  haste  their  stems  push  onward  still, 
The  pointed  blade,  each  rooted  trunk  we  see, 
In  various  movement  all  attest  thy  will. 
The  vine  must  die  when  its  long  race  is  run  ; 
The  tree  must  fall  when  it  no  more  can  rise,  — 
The  worm  has  at  its  root  his  task  begun, 
And  hour  by  hour  his  steady  labor  plies. 
Nor  man  can  pause,  but  in  thy  will  must  grow, 
And,  as  his  roots  within  more  deep  extend, 
He  shall  o'er  sons  of  sons  his  branches  throw, 
And  to  the  latest  born  his  shadows  lend ; 
Nor  know  in  Thee  disease  nor  length  of  days, 
But  lift  his  head  forever  in  thy  praise. 


54  VERTS  POEMS. 


life. 

IT  is  not  life  upon  Thy  gifts  to  live, 

But  to  grow  fixed  with  deeper  roots  in  Thee ; 

And  when  the   sun  and  shower  their  bounties 

give, 

To  send  out  thick-leaved  limbs,  a  fruitful  tree, 
Whose  green  head  meets  the  eye  for  many  a 

mile, 
Whose  moss-grown   arms   their   rigid  branches 

rear, 

And  full-faced  fruits  their  blushing  welcome  smile, 
As  to  its  goodly  shade  our  feet  draw  near ; 
Who  tastes  its  gifts  shall  never  hunger  more, 
For  't  is  the  Father  spreads  the  pure  repast, 
Who,  while  we  eat,  renews  the  ready  store, 
Which  at  his  bounteous  board  must  ever  last ; 
For  all  the  bridegroom's  supper  shall  attend, 
Who    humbly  hear  and   make  his  Word  their 

friend. 


e. 

FATHER  !  there  is  no  change  to  live  with  Thee, 
Save  that  in  Christ  I  grow  from  day  to  day, 
In  each  new  word  I  hear,  each  thing  I  see, 
I  but  rejoicing  hasten  on  the  way. 


THE  NEW  BIRTH.  55 

The  morning  comes  with  blushes  overspread, 
And  I  new-wakened  find  a  morn  within ; 
And  in  its  modest  dawn  around  me  shed, 
Thou  hear'st  the  prayer  and  the  ascending  hymn. 
Hour  follows  hour,  the  lengthening  shades  de 
scend, 

Yet  they  could  never  reach  as  far  as  me, 
Did  not  thy  love  its  kind  protection  lend, 
That  I  a  child  might  rest  awhile  on  Thee, 
Till  to  the  light  restored  by  gentle  sleep, 
With  new-found  zeal  I  might  thy  precepts  keep. 


I  THANK  thee,  Father,  that  the  night  is  near 
When  I  this  conscious  being  may  resign, 
Whose  only  task  thy  words  of  love  to  hear, 
And  in  thy  acts  to  find  each  act  of  mine  ; 
A  task  too  great  to  give  a  child  like  me, 
The  myriad-handed  labors  of  the  day, 
Too  many  for  my  closing  eyes  to  see, 
Thy  words  too  frequent  for  my  tongue  to  say. 
Yet  when  Thou  see'st  me  burthened  by  thy  love, 
Each  other  gift  more  lovely  then  appears, 
For  dark-robed  Night  comes  hovering  from  above, 
And  all  thine  other  gifts  to  me  endears ; 
And  while  within  her  darkened  couch  I  sleep, 
Thine   eyes  untired    above   will    constant  vigils 
keep. 


56  VERTS  POEMS. 


THE  light  will  never  open  sightless  eyes, 
It  comes  to  those  who  willingly  would  see ; 
And    every    object  —  hill,    and    stream,     and 

skies  — 

Rejoice  within  th'  encircling  line  to  be. 
'T  is  day,  —  the  field  is  filled  with  busy  hands, 
The  shop  resounds  with  noisy  workmen's  din, 
The  traveler  with  his  staff  already  stands 
His  yet  unmeasured  journey  to  begin  ; 
The  light  breaks  gently,  too,  within  the  breast,  — 
Yet  there  no  eye  awaits  the  crimson  morn, 
The  forge  and  noisy  anvil  are  at  rest, 
Nor  men  nor  oxen  tread  the  fields  of  corn, 
Nor  pilgrim  lifts  his  staff,  —  it  is  no  day 
To  those  who  find  on  earth  their  place  to  stay. 


To  tell  my  journeys,  where  I  daily  walk, 
These  words  thou  hear'st  me  use  were  given  me  ; 
Give  heed,  then,  when  with  thee  my  soul  would 

talk, 

That  thou  the  path  of  peace  it  goes  may  see. 
I  know  nowhere  to  turn,  each  step  is  new, 
No  wish  before  me  flies  to  point  the  way  ; 


THE  NEW  BIRTH.  57 

But  on  I  travel,  with  no  end  in  view, 
Save  that  from  Him  who  leads  I  may  not  stray. 
He  knows  it  all ;  the  turning  of  the  road, 
Where  this  way  leads  and  that,  He  knows  it 

well, 

And  finds  for  me  at  night  a  safe  abode, 
Though  I  all  houseless  know  not  where  to  dwell.  — 
And  can'st  thou  tell  then  where  my  journeying 

lies? 
If  so,  thou  tread'st  with  me  the  same  blue  skies. 


DAY  !  I  lament  that  none  can  hymn  thy  praise 
In  fitting  strains,  of  all  thy  riches  bless ; 
Though  thousands  sport  them  in  thy  golden  rays, 
Yet  none  like  thee  their  Maker's  name  confess. 
Great  fellow  of  my  being !  woke  with  me 
Thou  dost  put  on  thy  dazzling  robes  of  light, 
And  onward  from  the  east  go  forth  to  free 
Thy  children  from  the  bondage  of  the  night. 
I  hail  thee,  pilgrim !  on  thy  lonely  way, 
"Whose  looks  on  all  alike  benignant  shine ; 
A  child  of  light,  like  thee,  I  cannot  stay, 
But  on  the  world  I  bless  must  soon  decline, 
New  rising  still,  though  setting  to  mankind, 
And  ever  in  the  eternal  West  my  dayspring  find. 


58  VERTS  POEMS. 


OH,  humble  me  !  I  cannot  bide  the  joy 
That  in  my  Saviour's  presence  ever  flows  ; 
May  I  be  lowly,  lest  it  may  destroy 
The  peace  his  childlike  spirit  ever  knows. 
I  would  not  speak  thy  word,  but  by  Thee  stand, 
While  Thou  dost  to  thine  erring  children  speak ; 
Oh,  help  me  but  to  keep  his  own  command, 
And  in  my  strength  to  feel  me  ever  weak  ; 
Then  in  thy  presence  shall  I  humbly  stay, 
Nor  lose  the  life  of  love  He  came  to  give  ; 
And  find  at  last  the  life,  the  truth,  the  way 
To  where  with  Him  thy  blessed  servants  live ; 
And  walk  forever  in  the  path  of  truth  — 
A  servant  yet  a  son ;  a  sire  and  yet  a  youth. 


Cfje 


'T  is  to  yourself  I  speak  ;  you  cannot  know 
Him  whom  I  call  in  speaking  such  a  one, 
For  you  beneath  the  earth  lie  buried  low, 
Which  he  alone  as  living  walks  upon  : 
You  may  at  times  have  heard  him  speak  to  you, 
And  often  wished  perchance  that  you  were  he ; 
And  I  must  ever  wish  that  it  were  true, 
For  then  you  could  hold  fellowship  with  me : 
But  now  you  hear  us  talk  as  strangers,  met 
Above  the  room  wherein  you  lie  abed ; 
A  word  perhaps  loud  spoken  you  may  get, 
Or  hear  our  feet  when  heavily  they  tread ; 
But  he  who  speaks,  or  him  who 's  spoken  to, 
Must  both  remain  as  strangers  still  to  you. 


C&e  (Kpe  anti  (Kar. 

THOU  readest,  but  each  lettered  word  can  give 
Thee  but  the  sound  that  thou  first  gave  to  it ; 
Thou  lookest  on  the  page,  things  move  and  live, 
In  light  thine  eye,  and  thine  alone,  has  lit ; 
Ears  are  there  yet  unstopped,  and  eyes  unclosed, 
That  see  and  hear  as  in  one  common  day, 


62  VERT'S  POEMS. 

When  they  which  present  see  have  long  reposed, 
And  he  who  hears  has  mouldered,  too,  to  clay  : 
These  ever  see  and  hear ;  they  are  in  Him 
Who  speaks,  and  all  is  light ;  how  dark  before ! 
Each  object  throws  aside  its  mantle  dim, 
Which  hid  the  starry  robe  that  once  it  wore, 
And  shines  full  born,  disclosing  all  that  is, 
Itself  by  all  things  seen  and  owned  as  His. 


THE  fairest  day  that  ever  yet  has  shone, 
Will  be  when  thou  the  day  within  shalt  see  ; 
The  fairest  rose  that  ever  yet  has  blown, 
When  thou  the  flower  thou  lookest  on  shalt  be. 
But  thou  art  far  away  among  Time's  toys  ; 
Thyself  the  day  thou  lookest  for  in  them, 
Thyself  the  flower  that  now  thine  eye  enjoys, 
But  wilted  now  thou  hang'st  upon  thy  stem. 
The  bird  thou  hearest  on  the  budding  tree, 
Thou  hast  made  sing  with  thy  forgotten  voice  ; 
But  when  it  swells  again  to  melody, 
The  song  is  thine  in  which  thou  wilt  rejoice ; 
And  thou  new  risen  'midst  these  wonders  live, 
That  now  to  them  dost  all  thy  substance  give. 


THE  MESSAGE.  63 


Barroto 

WHERE  this  one  dwells  and  that,  thou  know'st 

it  well, 

Each  earthly  neighbor  and  each  earthly  friend  ; 
But  He  who  calls  thee  has  no  place  to  dwell, 
And  canst  thou  then  thine  all  unto  Him  lend  ? 
Canst    thou   a   stranger    he,    where    now   well 

known ; 

Where  now  thou  oftenest  go'st,  go  nevermore, 
But  walk  the  world  thenceforth  thy  way  alone, 
Broadening  the  path  but  little  worn  before  ? 
Then  may'st  thou  find  me,  when  thou  't  faint  and 

weak, 

And  the  strait  road  seems  narrower  still  to  grow  ; 
For  I  will  words  of  comfort  to  thee  speak, 
And  onward  with  thee  to  my  home  I  '11  go, 
Where  thou  shalt  find  a  rest  in  labor  sweet, 
No  friend  and  yet  a  friend  in  all  to  greet. 


Created, 

THERE  is  naught  for  thee  by  thy  haste  to  gain  ; 
'T  is  not  the  swift  with  Me  that  win  the  race  ; 
Through  long  endurance  of  delaying  pain, 
Thine  opened  eye  shall  see  thy  Father's  face  ; 
Nor  here  nor  there,  where  now  thy  feet  would 
turn, 


64  VERT S  POEMS. 

Thou  wilt  find  Him  who  ever  seeks  for  thee  ; 
But  let  obedience  quench  desires  that  burn, 
And  where  thou  art  thy  Father,  too,  will  be. 
Behold !  as  day  by  day  the  spirit  grows, 
Thou  see'st  by  inward  light  things  hid  before ; 
Till  what  God  is,  thyself,  his  image,  shows  ; 
And  thou  wilt  wear  the  robe  that  first  thou  wore. 
When  bright  with  radiance  from  his  forming 

hand, 
He  saw  the  lord  of  all  his  creatures  stand. 


Apostles* 

THE  words  that  come  unuttered  by  the  breath, 
Looks  without  eyes,  these  lighten  all  the  globe ; 
They   are   the    ministering   angels,   sent  where 

Death 

Has  walked  the  earth  so  long  in  seraph's  robe  ; 
See  crowding  to  their  touch  the  groping  blind ! 
And  ears  long  shut  to  sound  are  bent  to  hear, 
Quick  as  they  speak  the  lame  new  vigor  find, 
And  language  to  the  dumb  man's  lips  is  near ; 
Hail,  sent  to  us,  ye  servants  of  high  heaven  ! 
Unseen,  save  by  the  humble  and  the  poor ; 
To  them  glad  tidings  have  your  voices  given ; 
For  them  their  faith  has  wrought  the  wished-for 

cure  ; 

And  ever  shall  they  witness  bear  of  you, 
That  He  who  sent  you  forth  to  heal  was  true. 


THE  MESSAGE.  65 


comes  the  sun  to  visit  thee  at  morn, 
Art  thou  prepared  to  give  him  welcome  then ; 
Or  is  the  day  that  with  his  light  is  born, 
With  thee  a  day  that  has  already  been ; 
Hast  thou  filled  up  its  yet  unnumbered  hours 
With  thy  heart's  thoughts,  and  made  them  now 

thine  own  ? 

Then  for  thee  cannot  bloom  its  budding  flowers  ; 
The  day  to  thee  hast  past,  and  onward  flown  ; 
The  noon  may  follow  with  its  quickening  heat, 
The  grain  grow  yellow  in  its  ripening  rays, 
And  slow-paced  evening  mark  the  noon's  retreat, 
Yet  thou  as  dead  to  them  live  all  thy  days ; 
For  thou  hast  made  of  God's  free  gifts  a  gain, 
And  would'st  the  sovereign  day  a  slave  in  bonds 

retain. 


I  SAW  him  forging  link  by  link  his  chain, 
Yet  while  he  felt  its  length  he  thought  him  free, 
And  sighed  for  those  borne  o'er  the  barren  main 
To  bondage  that  to  his  would  freedom  be  ; 
Yet  on  he  walked  with  eyes  far-gazing  still 
On  wrongs  that  from  his  own  dark  bosom  flowed, 
5 


66  VERTS  POEMS. 

And  while  he  thought  to  do  his  master's  will 

He  but  the  more  his  disobedience  showed. 

I  heard  a  wild  rose  by  the  stony  wall, 

Whose  fragrance  reached  me  in  the  passing  gale, 

A  lesson  give  —  it  gave  alike  to  all  — 

And  I  repeat  the  moral  of  its  tale, 

"That  from  the  spot  where  deep  its  dark  roots 

grew 
Bloomed  forth  the  fragrant  rose  that  all  delight 

to  view." 


'T  is  near  the  morning  watch  :  the  dim  lamp  burns, 
But   scarcely   shows  how  dark  the  slumbering 

street  ; 

No  sound  of  life  the  silent  mart  returns  ; 
No  friends  from  house  to  house  their  neighbors 

greet. 

It  is  the  sleep  of  death,  —  a  deeper  sleep 
Than  e'er  before  on  mortal  eyelids  fell  ; 
No  stars  above  the  gloom  their  places  keep  ; 
No  faithful  watchmen  of  the  morning  tell  ; 
Yet  still  they  slumber  on,  though  rising  day 
Hath  through  their  windows  poured  the  awaken 

ing  light  ; 

Or,  turning  in  their  sluggard  trances,  say,  — 
"  There  yet  are  many  hours  to  fill  the  night." 
They  rise  not  yet;  while  on  the  Bridegroom  goes 
Till  He  the  day's  bright  gates  forever  on  them 

close. 


THE  MESSAGE.  67 


I  SEE  them,  —  crowd  on  crowd  they  walk  the 

earth, 

Dry  leafless  trees  no  autumn  wind  laid  bare  ; 
And  in  their  nakedness  find  cause  for  mirth, 
And  all  unclad  would  winter's  rudeness  dare ; 
No  sap  doth  through  their  clattering  branches 

flow, 
Whence  springing  leaves  and  blossoms   bright 

appear ; 

Their  hearts  the  living  God  have  ceased  to  know 
Who  gives  the  spring-time  to  th'  expectant  year. 
They  mimic  life,  as  if  from  Him  to  steal 
His  glow  of  health  to  paint  the  livid  cheek ; 
They  borrow  words   for  thoughts  they  cannot 

feel, 
That  with   a  seeming  heart  their  tongue  may 

speak ; 

And  in  their  show  of  life  more  dead  they  live 
Than  those  that  to  the  earth  with  many  tears 

they  give. 


MY  heart   grows   sick   before   the  wide-spread 

death 
That  walks  and  speaks  in  seeming  life  around  ; 


68  VERTS  POEMS. 

And  I  would  love  the  corpse  without  a  breath, 
That    sleeps    forgotten   'neath    the    cold,    cold 

ground ; 

For  these  do  tell  the  story  of  decay, 
The  worm  and  rotten  flesh  hide  not  nor  lie ; 
But  this,  though  dying,  too,  from  day  to  day, 
With  a  false  show  doth  cheat  the  longing  eye, 
And  hide  the  worm  that  gnaws  the  core  of  life, 
With  painted  cheek  and  smooth,  deceitful  skin ; 
Covering  a  grave  with  sights  of  darkness  rife, 
A  secret  cavern  filled  with  death  and  sin ; 
And  men  walk  o'er  these  graves  and  know  it  not, 
For  in  the  body's  health  the  soul 's  forgot. 


&\>t  Prison* 

THE  prison-house  is  full;  there  is  no  cell 
But  hath  its  prisoner  laden  with  his  chains  ; 
And  yet  they  live  as  though  their  life  was  well, 
Nor  of  its  burdening  sin  the  soul  complains  ; 
Thou   dost    not   see  where  thou  hast   lived   so 

long,  — - 
The  place  is  called  the  skull  where  thou  dost 

tread. 
Why  laugh'st  thou,  then,  why  sing  the  sportive 

song, 

As  if  thou  livest,  and  know'st  not  thou  art  dead. 
Yes,  thou  art  dead,  the  morn  breaks  o'er  thee 

now,  — 


THE  MESSAGE.  69 

TThore  is  thy  Father,  He  who  gave  thee  birth  ? 
Thou  art  a  severed  limb,  a  barren  bough, 
Thou  sleepest  in  deep  caverns  of  the  earth. 
Awake !  thou  hast  a  glorious  race  to  run ; 
Put  on  thy  strength,  thou  hast  not  yet  begun. 


f)e  tons  acquainted  toitj  <5nef» 

I  CANNOT  tell  the  sorrows  that  I  feel 

By  the  night's  darkness,  by  the  prison's  gloom ; 

There  is  no  sight  that  can  the  death  reveal 

The  spirit  suffers  in  a  living  tomb ; 

There  is  no  sound  of  grief  that  mourners  raise, 

No  moaning  of  the  wind,  or  dirge-like  sea, 

Nor  hymns,  though  prophet  tones  inspire  the  lays, 

That  can  the  Spirit's  grief  awake  in  thee. 

Thou,  too,  must  suffer,  as  it  suffers  here, 

The  death  in  Christ  to  know  the  Father's  love  ; 

Then  in  the  strains  that  angels  love  to  hear 

Thou,  too,  shalt  hear  the  Spirit's  song  above, 

And  learn  in  grief  what  these  can  never  tell,  — 

A  note  too  deep  for  earthly  voice  to  swell. 


70  VERTS  POEMS. 


fait!). 

THERE  is  no  faith:  the  mountain  stands  within 
Still  unrebuked,  its  summit  reaches  heaven  ; 
And  every  action  adds  its  load  of  sin, 
For  every  action  wants  the  little  leaven. 
There  is  no  prayer  :  it  is  but  empty  sound, 
That  stirs  with  frequent  breath  the  yielding  air, 
With  every  pulse  they  are  more  strongly  bound, 
Who  make  the  blood  of  goats  the  voice  of  prayer  ; 
Oh,  heal  them, — heal  them,  Father,  with  thy 

word, 

Their  sins  cry  out  to  Thee  from  every  side  : 
From  son  and  sire,  from  slave  and  master  heard, 
Their  voices  fill  the  desert  country  wide  ; 
And  bid  Thee  hasten  to  relieve  and  save, 
By  Him  who  rose  triumphant  o'er  the  grave. 


I  LOOKED  to  find  a  man  who  walked  with  God, 
Like  the  translated  patriarch  of  old  ;  — 
Though  gladdened  millions  on  his  footstool  trod, 
Yet  none  with  Him  did  such  sweet  converse  hold. 
I  heard  the  wind  in  low  complaint  go  by 
That  none  its  melodies  like  him  could  hear ;  — 
Day  unto  day  spoke  wisdom  from  on  high, 


THE  MESSAGE.  71 

Yet  none  like  David  turned  a  willing  ear  : 

God  walked  alone,  tmhonored,  through  the  earth. 

For  Him  no  heart-built  temple  open  stood ; 

The  soul,  forgetful  of  her  nobler  birth, 

Had  hewn  Him  lofty  shrines  of  stone  and  wood, 

And  left  unfinished,  and  in  ruins  still, 

The  only  temple  He  delights  to  fill. 


THERE  is  no  worship  now :  the  idol  stands 
Within  the  Spirit's  holy  resting-place  ! 
Millions  before  it  bend  with  upraised  hands, 
And  with  their  gifts  God's  purer  shrine  disgrace. 
The  prophet  walks  unhonored  'mid  the  crowd 
That  to  the  idol's  temple  daily  throng  ; 
His  voice  unheard  above  their  voices  loud, 
His  strength  too  feeble  'gainst  the  torrent  strong ; 
But  there  are  bounds  that  ocean's  rage  can  stay 
When  wave  on  wave  leaps  madly  to  the  shore : 
And  soon  the  prophet's  word  shall  men  obey, 
And  hushed  to  peace  the  billows  cease  to  roar ; 
For  He  who  spake  —  and  warring  winds  kept 

peace, 
Commands    again  —  and   man's   wild    passions 

cease. 


72  VERTS  POEMS. 


I  HAVE  no  brother.     They  who  meet  me  now 

Offer  a  hand  with  their  own  wills  defiled, 

And,  while  they  wear  a  smooth,  unwrinkled  brow, 

Know  not  that  Truth  can  never  be  beguiled. 

Go  wash  the  hand  that  still  betrays  thy  guilt ;  — 

Before  the  Spirit's  gaze  what  stain  can  hide  ? 

Abel's  red  blood  upon  the  earth  is  spilt, 

And  by  thy  tongue  it  cannot  be  denied. 

I  hear  not  with  the  ear,  —  the  heart  doth  tell 

Its  secret  deeds  to  me  untold  before  ; 

Go,  all  its  hidden  plunder  quickly  sell, 

Then  shalt  thou  cleanse  thee  from  thy  brother's 

gore, 

Then  will  I  take  thy  gift ;  —  that  bloody  stain 
Shall  not  be  seen  upon  thy  hand  again. 


THOU  art  more  deadly  than  the  Jew  of  old  : 

Thou  hast  his  weapons  hidden  in  thy  speech ; 

And  though  thy  hand  from  me  thou  dost  with 
hold, 

They  pierce  where  sword  and  spear  could  never 
reach. 

Thou  hast  me  fenced  about  with  thorny  talk, 


THE  MESSAGE.  73 

To  pierce  my  soul  with  anguish  while  I  hear ; 
And  while  amid  thy  populous  streets  I  walk, 
I  feel  at  every  step  the  entering  spear. 
Go,  cleanse  thy  lying  mouth  of  all  its  guile 
That  from  the  will  within  thee  ever  flows ; 
Go,  cleanse  the  temple  thou  dost  now  defile, 
Then  shall  I  cease  to  feel  thy  heavy  blows ; 
And  come  and  tread  with  me  the  path  of  peace, 
And  from  thy  brother's  harm  forever  cease. 


I  WALK  the  streets,  and  though  not  meanly  drest, 
Yet  none  so  poor  as  can  with  me  compare  ; 
For  none,  though  weary,  call  me  in  to  rest, 
And   though   I   hunger,    none    their    substance 

share. 

I  ask  not  for  my  stay  the  broken  reed, 
That  fails  when  most  I  want  a  friendly  arm ; 
I  cannot  on  the  loaves  and  fishes  feed 
That  want  the  blessing  that  they  may  not  harm. 
I  only  ask  the  living  word  to  hear 
From  tongues  that  now  but  speak  to  utter  death ; 
I  thirst  for  one  cool  cup  of  water  clear, 
But  drink  the  riled  stream  of  lying  breath  ; 
And  wander  on,  though  in  my  Fatherland, 
Yet  hear  no  welcome  voice  and  see  no  beckoning 

hand. 


74  VERTS  POEMS. 


ge  gabe  me  no  ;peat. 

MY  brother,  I  am  hungry  :  give  me  food 

Such  as  my  Father  gives  me  at  his  board  ; 

He  has  for  many  years  been  to  thee  good, 

Thou  canst  a  morsel,  then,  to  me  afford. 

I  do  not  ask  of  thee  a  grain  of  that 

Thou  offerest  when  I  call  on  thee  for  bread ; 

This  is  not  of  the  wine  nor  olive  fat, 

But  those  who  eat  of  this  like  thee  are  dead. 

I  ask  the  love  the  Father  has  for  thee, 

That  thou  should' st  give  it  back  to  me  again ; 

This  shall  my  soul  from  pangs  of  hunger  free, 

And  on  my  parched  spirit  fall  like  rain ; 

Then  thou  wilt  prove  a  brother  to  my  need, 

For  in  the  cross  of  Christ  thou,  too,  canst  bleed. 


LONG  do  we  live  upon  the  husks  of  corn, 
While  'neath  untasted  lie  the  kernels  still ; 
Heirs  of  the  kingdom,  but  in  Christ  unborn, 
Fain  with  swine's  food  would  we  our  hunger  fill. 
We  eat,  but  't  is  not  of  the  bread  from  heaven ; 
We  drink,  but  't  is  not  from  the  stream  of  life  ; 
Our  swelling  actions  want  the  little  leaven 
To  make  them  with  the  sighed-f or  blessing  rife  ; 


THE    MESSAGE.  75 

We  wait  unhappy  on  a  stranger's  board, 

While  we  the  master's  friend  by  right  should 

live, 

Enjoy  with  him  the  fruits  our  labors  stored, 
And  to  the  poor  with  him  the  pittance  give  ; 
No  more  to  want,  the  long  expected  heir 
With  Christ  the  Father's  love  forevermore  to 

share. 


Ipeart. 

THERE  is  a  cup  of  sweet  or  bitter  drink, 
Whose  waters  ever  o'er  the  brim  must  well, 
Whence  flow  pure    thoughts  of  love  as  angels 

think, 

Or  of  its  daemon  depths  the  tongue  will  tell. 
That  cup  can  ne'er  be  cleansed  from  outward 

stains 

While  from  within  the  tide  forever  flows ; 
And  soon  it  wearies  out  the  fruitless  pains 
The  treacherous  hand  on  such  a  task  bestows  ; 
But  ever  bright  its  crystal  sides  appear, 
While  runs  the  current  from  its  outlet  pure  ; 
And  pilgrims  hail  its  sparkling  waters  near, 
And  stoop  to  drink  the  healing  fountain  sure, 
And  bless  the  cup  that  cheers  their  fainting  soul 
While  through  this  parching  waste    they  seek 

their  heavenly  goal. 


76  VERTS  POEMS. 


THOU  pray'st  not,   save  when  in  thy  soul  thou 

pray'st, 

Disrobing  of  thyself  to  feed  the  poor ; 
The  words  thy  lips  shall  utter  then,  thou  say'st, 
They  are  as  marble,  and  they  shall  endure. 
Pray  always,  for  on  prayer  the  hungry  feed  ; 
Its  sound  is  hidden  music  to  the  soul, 
From  low  desires  its  rising  strains  shall  lead, 
And  willing  captives  own  thy  just  control. 
Draw  not  too  often  on  the  gushing  spring, 
But  rather  let  its  own  o'erflowings  tell 
Where  the  cool  waters  rise,  and  thither  bring 
Those  who  more  gladly  then  will  hail  the  well ; 
When,  gushing  from  within,  new  streams  like 

thine 
Shall  bid  them  ever  drink  and  own  its  source 

divine. 


THE  Prophet  speaks,  the  world  attentive  stands ! 
The  voice  that  stirs  the  people's  countless  host, 
Issues  again  the  Living  God's  commands  ; 
And  who  before  the  King  of  kings  can  boast  ? 
At  his  rebuke  behold  a  thousand  flee, 


THE  MESSAGE.  77 

Their  hearts  the  Lord  hath  smitten  with  his  fear  ; 
Bow  to  the  Christ,  ye  nations  !  bow  the  knee ! 
Repent !  the  kingdom  of  the  Son  is  near ! 
Deep  on  their  souls  the  mighty  accents  fall, 
Like  lead  that  pierces  through  the  walls  of  clay  ; 
Pricked  to  the  heart  the  guilty  spirits  call 
To  know  of  Him  the  new,  the  living  way ; 
They  bow  ;  for  He  can  loose,  and  He  can  bind ; 
And  in  his  path  the  promised  blessing  find. 


AWAKE,  ye  dead  !    The  summons  has  gone  forth 
That  bids  ye  leave  the  dark  inclosing  grave  ; 
From  east  to  west   'tis  heard,  from   south  to 

north 

The  word  goes  forth  imprisoned  souls  to  save : 
Though  ye  have  on  the  garments  of  the  dead, 
And  the  fourth  day  have  slept  within  the  earth, 
Come  forth  !  you  shall  partake  the  living  bread, 
And  be  a  witness  of  the  Spirit's  birth. 
Awake,  ye  faithful !  throw  your  grave-clothes  by, 
He  whom  ye  seek  is  risen,  bids  ye  rise  ;  ^ 
The  cross  again  on  earth  is  lifted  high  ; 
Turn  to  its  healing  sight  your  closing  eyes ; 
And  you  shall  rise  and  gird  your  armor  on, 
And  fight  till  you  a  crown  in  Christ  have  won. 


78  VERY'S  POEMS. 


THOU  shalt  the  mountain  move  ;  be  strong  in  me, 
And  I  will  pluck  it  from  its  rocky  base, 
And  cast  it  headlong  in  the  rolling  sea,  — 
And  men  shall  seek  but  shall  not  find  its  place. 
Be  strong  ;  thou  shalt  throw  down  the  numerous 

host 

That  rises  now  against  thee  o'er  the  earth ; 
Against  thy  Father's  arm  they  shall  not  boast, 
In  sorrow  shall  grow  dark  their  day  of  mirth. 
Lift  up  the  banner,  bid  the  trumpets  sound  ; 
Gather,  ye  nations,  on  the  opposing  hill ! 
I  will  your  wisest  councils  now  confound, 
And  all  your  ranks  with  death  and  slaughter  fill. 
I  come  for  judgment,  and  for  victory  now, 
Bow  down,  ye  nations  !  at  my  footstool  bow ! 


I  WOULD  not  tarry.     Look  !  the  things  before 
Call  me  along  my  path  with  beckoning  love  ; 
The  things  I  gain  wear  not  the  hues  they  wore, 
For  brighter  glories  gild  the  heavens  above. 
Still  on,  I  seek  the  peace  the  Master  sought, 
The  world  cannot  disturb  his  joy  within ; 
It  is  not  with  its  gold  and  silver  bought, 


THE  MESSAGE.  79 

It  is  the  victory  over  death  and  sin. 

.But  those  who  enter  the  bright  city's  gates, 

Ride  low  on  one  the   marked  and  scorned  of 

earth ; 

For  there  the  ready  mansion  open  waits 
For  those  who  live  rejected  from  their  birth; 
And  He  who  went  before  them  bids,  all  hail ! 
To  those  who  o'er  the  world  in  Him  prevail. 


'a  Best, 


REJOICE,  ye  weary  !  ye  whose  spirits  mourn, 
There  is  a  rest  which  shall  not  be  removed  ; 
Press  on  and  reach  within  the  heavenly  bourne, 
By  Christ,  the  King  of  your  salvation  proved. 
There  is  a  rest  !     Rejoice,  ye  silent  stars, 
Roll  on  no  more  all  voiceless  on  your  way  : 
Thou   Sun  !     No  more  dark   cloud  thy  triumph 

bars,  — 

Speak  thou  to  every  land  the  coming/day. 
And  thou,  my  soul,  that  feel'st  the  rest  within, 
That  greater  art  than  star  or  burning  sun, 
Rejoice!  for  thou  hast  known  the  rest  from  sin, 
And  hast  the  eternal  life  in  God  begun  ;  — 
Praise  thou  the  Lord  with  every  living  thing, 
And  for  his  grace  with  saints  and  angels  sing. 


80  VERTS  POEMS. 


Praise* 

OH  praise  the  Lord !    Let  every  heart  be  glad  ! 
The  day  has  come  when  He  will  be  our  God  ; 
No  fears  can  come  to  make  his  children  sad, 
His  joy  is  theirs  who  in  his  ways  have  trod. 
Oh   praise,    ye    hills !     Praise  Him,    ye    rivers 

wide ! 

Ye  people  own  his  love  !  revere  his  power  ! 
He  makes  his  peace  in  one  full  current  glide, 
It  shall  flow  on  unbroken  from  this  hour. 
Shout !   shout,    ye   saints !    the   triumph  day  is 

near, 

The  King  goes  forth  Himself  his  sons  to  save ; 
The  habitations  of  the  poor  to  rear, 
And  bid  the  palm  and  myrtle  round  them  wave  ! 
Open  your  gates,  ye  heaven-uplifted  walls  ! 
The  King  of  kings  for  entrance  at  them  calls. 


^attire. 


JSature. 

NATURE  !  my  love  for  thee  is  deeper  far 

Than  strength  of  words,  though  spirit-born,  can 

tell; 

For  while  I  gaze  they  seem  my  soul  to  bar, 
That  in   thy  widening   streams  would   onward 

swell, 

Bearing  thy  mirrored  beauty  on  its  breast,  — 
Now,  through  thy  lonely  haunts  unseen  to  glide, 
A  motion  that  scarce  knows  itself  from  rest, 
"With  pictured  flowers  and  branches  on  its  tide  ; 
Then,  by  the  noisy  city's  frowning  wall, 
Whose  armed  heights  within  its  waters  gleam, 
To  rush  with  answering  voice  to  ocean's  call, 
And  mingle  with  the  deep  its  swollen  stream, 
Whose  boundless  bosom's  calm  alone  can  hold 
That  heaven  of  glory  in  thy  skies  unrolled. 


WHEN  I  would   sing   of   crooked  streams  and 

fields, 

On,  on  from  me  they  stretch  too  far  and  wide, 

And  at  their  look  my  song  all  powerless  yields, 

(83) 


84  VERTS  POEMS. 

And  down  the  river  bears  me  with  its  tide. 

Amid  the  fields  I  am  a  child  again, 

The  spots  that  then  I  loved  I  love  the  more, 

My  fingers  drop  the  strangely-scrawling  pen, 

And  I  remember  nought  but  Nature's  lore. 

I  plunge  me  in  the  river's  cooling  wave, 

Or  on  the  embroidered  bank  admiring  lean, 

Now  some  endangered  insect  life  to  save, 

Now   watch  the   pictured   flowers   and   grasses 

green  ; 

Forever  playing  where  a  boy  I  played, 
By  hill  and  grove,  by  field  and  stream  delayed. 


Co  t&e  Pure  all  Swings  are  Pure* 

THE  flowers  I  pass  have  eyes  that  look  at  me, 
The  birds  have  ears  that  hear  my  spirit's  voice, 
And  I  am  glad  the  leaping  brook  to  see, 
Because  it  does  at  my  light  step  rejoice. 
Come,  brothers,  all  who  tread  the  grassy  hill, 
Or  wander  thoughtless  o'er  the  blooming  fields, 
Come  learn  the  sweet  obedience  of  the  will ; 
Thence   every    sight  and    sound    new   pleasure 

yields. 

Nature  shall  seem  another  house  of  thine, 
When  He  who  formed  thee,  bids  it  live  and  play. 
And  in  thy  rambles  e'en  the  creeping  vine 
Shall  keep  with  thee  a  jocund  holiday, 
And  every  plant,  and  bird,  and  insect  be 
Thine  own  companions  born  for  harmony. 


NATURE.  85 


Bature. 

THE  bubbling  brook  doth  leap  when  I  come  by, 
Because  my  feet  find  measure  with  its  call ; 
The  birds  know  when  the  friend  they  love  is 

nigh, 

For  I  am  known  to  them  both  great  and  small ; 
The  flowers  that  on  the  lovely  hill-side  grow 
Expect  me  there  when  Spring  their  bloom  has 

given  ; 

And  many  a  tree  and  bush  my  wanderings  know, 
And  e'en  the  clouds  and  silent  stars  of  heaven : 
For  he  who  with  his  Maker  walks  aright 
Shall  be  their  lord,  as  Adam  was  before  ; 
His  ear  shall  catch  each  sound  with  new  delight, 
Each  object  wear  the  dress  which  then  it  wore ; 
And  he,  as  when  erect  in  soul  he  stood, 
Hear  from  his  Father's  lips,  that  all  is  good. 


Hofce. 

EACH  naked  branch,  the  yellow  leaf  or  brown, 
The  rugged  rock,  and  death-deformed  plain, 
Lie  wliite  beneath  the  winter's  feathery  down, 
Nor  doth  a  spot  unsightly  now  remain.  • 

On  sheltering  roof,  on  man  himself,  it  falls  ; 
But  him  no  robe,  not  spotless  snow,  makes  clean  ; 


86  VERTS  POEMS. 

Beneath,  his  corse-like  spirit  ever  calls, 

That  on  it  too  may  fall  the  heavenly  screen. 

But  all  in  vain  :  its  guilt  can  never  hide 

From  the  quick  Spirit's  heart-deep  searching  eye ; 

There  barren  plains  and  caverns  yawning  wide 

Lie  ever  naked  to  the  passer-by  ; 

Nor   can  one   thought    deformed   the   presence 

shun, 
But  to  the  Spirit's  gaze  stands  bright  as  in  the 

sun. 


I  TOO  will  wait  with  thee  returning  Spring, 
When   thick   the   leaves    shall   cling   on    every 

bough, 

And  birds  within  their  new-grown  arbor  sing, 
Unmindful  of  the  storms  that  tear  me  now  ; 
For  I  have  stript  me  naked  to  the  blast 
That  now  in  triumph  through  my  branches  rides  : 
But  soon  the  winter's  bondage  shall  be  past 
To  him  who  in  the  Saviour's  love  abides  ; 
And  as  his  Father  to  thy  limbs  returns, 
Blossom  and  bloom  to  sprinkle  o'er  thy  dress, 
So  shall  Christ  call  from  out  their  funeral  urns, 
Those  who  in  patience  still  their  souls  possess ; 
And  clothe  in  raiment  never  to  wax  old, 
All  whom  his  Father  gave  him  for  his  fold. 


NATURE.  87 


fZT&e  SMtntcr  Hain. 

THE  rain  comes  down,  it  comes  without  our  call, 
Each  pattering   drop   knows   well   its   destined 

place, 

And  soon  the  fields  whereon  the  blessings  fall 
Shall  change  their  frosty  look  for  Spring's  sweet 

face ; 

So  fall  the  words  thy  Holy  Spirit  sends, 
Upon  the  heart  where  Winter's  robe  is  flung  ; 
They  shall  go  forth  as  certain  of  their  ends, 
As  the  wet  drops  from  out  thy  vapors  wrung : 
Spring  will  not  tarry,  though  more  late  its  rose 
Shall  bud  and  bloom  upon  the  sinful  heart ; 
Yet  when  it  buds,  forever  there  it  blows, 
And  hears  no  Winter  bid  its  bloom  depart ; 
It  strengthens  with  his  storms,  and  grows  more 

bright 
When  o'er  the  earth  is  cast  his  mantle  white. 


C(je  Spirit. 

I  WOULD  not  breathe,  when  blows  thy  mighty 

wind 

O'er  desolate  hill  and  winter-blasted  plain, 
But  stand,  in  waiting  hope,  if  I  may  find 
Each  flower  recalled  to  newer  life  again, 


88  VERTS  POEMS. 

That  now  unsightly  hides  itself  from  Thee, 
Amid  the  leaves  or  rustling  grasses  dry, 
With  ice-cased  rock  and  snowy-mantled  tree, 
Ashamed  lest  Thou  its  nakedness  should  spy  ; 
But  Thou  shalt  breathe,  and  every  rattling  bough 
Shall  gather  leaves  ;  each  rock  with  rivers  flow ; 
And  they  that  hide  them  from  thy  presence  now, 
In  new-found  robes  along  thy  path  shall  glow, 
And  meadows  at  thy  coming  fall  and  rise, 
Their  green  waves   sprinkled  with  a   thousand 
eyes. 


Desert 

OH,  bid  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose, 
For  there  is  not  one  flower  that  meets  me  now ; 
On  all  thy  fields  lie  heaped  the  wintry  snows, 
And  the  rough  ice  encrusts  the  fruitful  bough. 
Oh,  breathe  upon  thy  ruined  vineyard  still ; 
Though  like  the  dead  it  long  unmoved  has  lain, 
Thy  breath  can  with  the  bloom  of  Eden  fill, 
The  lifeless  clods  in  verdure  clothe  again. 
Awake,  ye  slothful !  open  wide  the  earth 
To  the  new  sun  and  Spirit's  quickening  rain ; 
They  came  to  bid  the  furrows  heave  in  birth, 
And  strew  with  roses  thick  the  barren  plain. 
Awake !  be  early  in  your  untilled  field, 
And  it  to  you  the  crop  of  peace  shall  yield. 


NATURE.  89 


labor  antJ  Heat. 

THOU  need'st  not  rest :  the  shining  spheres  are 

thine 

That  roll  perpetual  on  their  silent  way, 
And  Thou  dost  breathe  in  me  a  voice  divine, 
That  tells  more  sure  of  thine  eternal  sway ; 
Thine  the  first  starting  of  the  early  leaf, 
The  gathering  green,  the  changing  autumn  hue ; 
To  Thee  the  world's  long  years  are  but  as  brief 
As  the  fresh  tints  that  Spring  will  soon  renew. 
Thou  needest  not  man's  little  life  of  years, 
Save  that  he  gather  wisdom  from  them  all ; 
That  in  thy  fear  he  lose  all  other  fears, 
And  in  thy  calling  heed  no  other  call. 
Then  shall  he  be  thy  child  to  know  thy  care, 
And  in  thy  glorious  Self   the  eternal  Sabbath 

share. 


I  LOVE  thee  when  thy  swelling  buds  appear 
And  one  by  one  their  tender  leaves  unfold, 
As  if  they  knew  that  warmer  suns  were  near, 
Nor  longer  sought  to  hide  from  Winter's  cold ; 
And  when  with  darker  growth  thy  leaves   are 
seen 


90  VERTS  POEMS. 

To  veil  from  view  the  early  robin's  nest, 

I  love  to  lie  beneath  thy  waving  screen 

With  limbs  by  summer's  heat  and  toil  opprest ; 

And  when  the  autumn  winds  have  stript  thee 

bare, 

And  round  thee  lies  the  smooth,  untrodden  snow, 
When  nought  is  thine  that  made  thee  once  so 

fair, 

I  love  to  watch  thy  shadowy  form  below, 
And  through  thy  leafless  arms  to  look  above 
On  stars  that  brighter  beam  when  most  we  need 

their  love. 


g>noto, 

IT  will  not  stay  !  the  robe  so  pearly  white, 
Which  fell  in  folds  in  Nature's  bosom  bare, 
And  sparkled  in  the  winter  moonbeams'  light, 
A  vesture  such  as  sainted  spirits  wear. 
It  will  not  stay.    Look,  from  the  open  plain, 
It  melts  beneath  the  glance  of  April's  sun ; 
Nor  can  the  rock's  cool  shade  the  snow  detain, 
It  feeds  the  brooks,  which  down  the  hillside  run. 
Why  should  it  linger  ?    Many  tinted  flowers 
And  the  green  grass  its  place  will  quickly  fill, 
And,  with  new  life  from  sun  and  kindly  showers, 
With  beauty  deck  the  meadow  and  the  hill, 
Till  we  regret  to  see  the  earth  resume 
This  snowy  mantle  for  her  robe  of  bloom. 


NATURE.  91 


dTrue  Li 


THE   morning's    brightness   cannot   make    thee 

glad, 

If  thou  art  not  more  bright  than  it  within  ; 
And  nought  of  evening's  peace  hast  thou  e'er 

had, 

If  evening  first  did  not  with  thee  begin. 
Full  many  a  sun  I  saw  first  set  and  rise, 
Before  my  day  had  found  a  rising  too  ; 
And  I  with  Nature  learned  to  harmonize, 
And  to  her  times  and  seasons  made  me  true.  / 
How  fair  that  new  May  morning  when  I  rose 
Companion  of  the  sun  for  all  the  day  ; 
O'er  every  hill  and  field  where  now  he  goes, 
With  him  to  pass,  nor  fear  again  to  stray  ; 
But  'neath  the  full-orbed  moon's  reflected  light 
Still  onward  keep  my  way  till  latest  night. 


(ZT&e 

THOU  lookest  up  with  meek,  confiding  eye, 
Upon  the  clouded  smile  of  April's  face, 
Unharmed,  though  Winter  stands  uncertain  by 
Eying  with  jealous  glance  each  opening  grace. 
Thou  trustest  wisely  !    In  thy  faith  arrayed, 
More  glorious  thou  than  Israel's  wisest  King. 


92  VEBY'S  POEMS. 

Such  faith  was  His  whom  men  to  death  betrayed, 
As  thine,  who  hear'st  the  timid  voice  of  Spring, 
While  other  flowers  still  hide  them  from  her  call 
Along  the  river's  brink  and  meadow  bare. 
Thee  will  I  seek  beside  the  stony  wall, 
And  in  thy  trust  with    childlike    heart   would 

share, 

O'er  joyed  that  in  thy  early  leaves  I  find 
A  lesson  taught  by  Him  who  loved  all  human 

kind. 


Ftoiet 

THOU  tellest  truths  unspoken  yet  by  man, 
By  this  thy  lonely  home  and  modest  look  ; 
For  he  has  not  the  eyes  such  truths  to  scan, 
Nor  learns  to  read  from  such  a  lowly  book. 
With  him  it  is  not  life  firm-fixed  to  grow 
Beneath  the  outspreading  oaks  and  rising  pines, 
Content  this  humble  lot  of  thine  to  know, 
The  nearest  neighbor  of  the  creeping  vines  ; 
Without  fixed  root  he  cannot  trust,  like  thee, 
The  rain  will  know  the  appointed  hour  to  fall, 
But  fears  lest  sun  or  shower  may  hurtful  be, 
And  would  delay  or  speed  them  with  his  call ; 
Nor  trust  like  thee  when  wintry  winds  blow  cold, 
Whose  shrinking  form  the  withered  leaves  enfold, 


NATURE.  93 


(T|)c  Columbine. 

STILL,  still  my  eye  will  gaze  long  fixed  on  thee, 

Till  I  forget  that  I  am  called  a  man, 

And  at  thy  side  fast-rooted  seem  to  be, 

And  the  breeze  comes  my  cheek  with  thine  to 

fan. 

Upon  this  craggy  hill  our  life  shall  pass,  — 
A  life  of  summer  days  and  summer  joys,  — 
Nodding  our  honey-bells  mid  pliant  grass 
In  which  the  bee,  half-hid,  his  time  employs ; 
And  here  we  '11  drink  with  thirsty  pores  the  rain, 
And  turn  dew-sprinkled  to  the  rising  sun, 
And  look  when  in  the  flaming  west  again 
His  orb  across  the  heaven  its  path  has  run  ; 
Here  left  in  darkness  on  the  rocky  steep, 
My  weary  eyes  shall  close  like  folding  flowers  in 

sleep. 


Hose  of  ppmoutji. 

UPON  the  Plymouth  shore  the  wild  rose  blooms, 
As  when  the  Pilgrims  lived  beside  the  bay, 
And  scents  the  morning  air  with  sweet  perfumes  ; 
Though  new  this  hour,  more  ancient  far  than 

they; 
More  ancient  than  the  wild,  yet  friendly  race, 


94  VERTS  POEMS. 

That  roved  the  land  before  the  Pilgrims  came, 
And  here  for  ages  found  a  dwelling-place, 
Of  whom  our  histories  tell  us  but  a  name  ! 
Though   new   this  hour,   out   from   the  past  it 

springs, 

Telling  this  summer  morning  of  earth's  prime  ; 
And  happy  visions  of  the  future  brings, 
That  reach  beyond,  e'en  to  the  verge  of  time ; 
Wreathing  earth's  children  in  one  flowery  chain 
Of  love  and  beauty,  ever  to  remain. 


THE  sweet-briar  rose  has  not  a  form  more  fair, 
Nor  are  its  hues  more  beauteous  than  thine  own, 
Sabbatia,  flower  most  beautiful  and  rare  ! 
In  lonely  spots  blooming  unseen,  unknown. 
So  spiritual  thy  look,  thy  stem  so  light, 
Thou  seemest  not  from  the  dark  earth  to  grow ; 
But  to  belong  to  heavenly  regions  bright, 
Where  night  comes    not,   nor  blasts  of  winter 

blow. 

To  me  thou  art  a  pure,  ideal  flower, 
So  delicate  that  mortal  touch  might  mar ; 
Not  born,  like  other  flowers,  of  sun  and  shower, 
But  wandering  from  thy  native  home  afar 
To  lead  our  thoughts  to  some  serener  clime, 
Beyond  the  shadows  and  the  storms  of  time. 


NATURE.  95 


CT&e  Bobin. 

THOU  need'st  not  flutter  from  thy  half-built  nest, 
Whene'er  thou  hear'st  man's  hurrying  feet  go  by, 
Fearing  his  eye  for  harm  may  on  thee  rest, 
Or  he  thy  young's  unfinished  cottage  spy ; 
All  will  not  heed  thee  on  that  swinging  bough, 
Nor  care  that  round  thy  shelter  spring  the  leaves, 
Nor  watch  thee  on  the  pool's  wet  margin  now 
For  clay  to  plaster  straws  thy  cunning  weaves ; 
All  will  not  hear  thy  sweet,  outpouring  joy, 
That  with  morn's  stillness  blends  the  voice  of 

song, 

For  over-anxious  cares  their  souls  employ, 
That  else  upon  thy  music  borne  along 
And  the  light  wings  of  heart-ascending  prayer 
Had  learned  that  Heaven  is  pleased  thy  simple 

joys  to  share. 


(£0  t(je 

I  CANNOT  hear  thy  voice  with  others'  ears, 
Who  make  of  thy  lost  liberty  a  gain ; 
And  in  thy  tale  of  blighted  hopes  and  fears 
Feel  not  that  every  note  is  born  with  pain. 
Alas  !  that  with  thy  music's  gentle  swell 
Past  days  of  joy  should  through  thy  memory 
throng, 


96  VERTS  POEMS. 

And  each  to  thee  their  words  of  sorrow  tell, 
While  ravished  sense  forgets  thee  in  thy  song. 
The  heart  that  on  the  past  and  future  feeds, 
And  pours  in  human  words  its  thoughts  divine, 
Though  at  each  birth  the  spirit  inly  bleeds, 
Its  songs  may  charm  the  listening  ear  like  thine ; 
And  men  with  gilded  cage  and  praise  will  try 
To  make  the  bard  like  thee  forget  his  native  sky. 


's  <S5tft. 

I  FOUND,  far  culled  from  fragrant  field  and  grove, 
Each  flower  that  makes  our  Spring  a  welcome 

guest ; 

In  one  sweet  bond  of  brotherhood  inwove 
An  osier  band  their  leafy  stalks  compressed  ; 
A  stranger's  hand  had  made  their  bloom  my 

own, 

And  fresh  their  fragrance  rested  on  the  air ; 
His  gift  was  mine  —  but  he  who  gave  unknown, 
And  my  heart  sorrowed  though  the  flowers  were 

fair. 

Now  oft  I  grieve  to  meet  them  on  the  lawn, 
As  sweetly  scattered  round  my  path  they  grow, 
By  One  who  on  their  petals  paints  the  dawn, 
And  gilt  with  sunset  splendors  bids  them  glow, 
For  I  ne'er  asked   "who  steeps  them  in   per 
fume  ?  " 

Nor  anxious  sought  His  love  who  crowns  them 
all  with  bloom. 


NATURE.  97 


Edge, 

THE  rose  thou  show'st  me  has  lost  all  its  hue, 
For  thou  dost  seem  to  me  than  it  less  fair ; 
For  when  I  look  I  turn  from  it  to  you, 
And  feel  the  flower  has  been  thine  only  care. 
Thou  could'st  have  grown  as  freely  by  its  side 
As  spring  these  buds  from  out  the  parent  stem, 
But  thou  art  from  thy  Father  severed  wide, 
And  turnest  from  thyself  to  look  at  them. 
Thy  words  do  not  perfume  the  summer  air, 
Nor  draw  the  eye  and  ear  like  this  thy  flower ; 
No  bees  shall  make  thy  lips  their  daily  care, 
And  sip  the  sweets  distilled  from  hour  to  hour  ; 
Nor  shall  new  plants  from  out  thy  scattered  seed, 
O'er  many  a  field  the  eye  with  beauty  feed. 


THE  seed  has  started,  —  who  can  stay  it  ?     See, 
The  leaves  are  sprouting  high  above  the  ground ; 
Already  o'er  the  flowers,  its  head  ;  the  tree 
That  rose  beside  it  and  that  on  it  frowned, 
Behold !  is  but  a  small  bush  by  its  side. 
Still  on  !  it  cannot  stop  ;  its  branches  spread ; 
It  looks  o'er  all  the  earth  in  giant  pride  : 
The  nations  find  upon  its  limbs  their  bread, 
7 


98  VERTS  POEMS. 

Its  boughs  their  millions  shelter  from  the  heat, 
Beneath  its  shade  see  kindreds,  tongues,  and  all 
That  the  wide  world  contains,  they  all  retreat 
Beneath  the  shelter  of  that  acorn  small 
That  late  thou  flung'st  away  ;  't  was  the  best  gift 
That  Heaven  e'er  gave  ;  —  its  head  the  low  shall 
lift. 


sick  anfc  in  Prison, 

THOU  hast  not  left  the  rough-barked  tree  to  grow 
Without  a  mate  upon  the  river's  bank ; 
Nor  dost  Thou  on  one  flower  the  rain  bestow, 
But  many  a  cup  the  glittering  drops  has  drank. 
The  bird  must  sing  to  one  who  sings  again, 
Else  would  her  note  less  welcome  be  to  hear ; 
Nor  hast  Thou  bid  thy  word  descend  in  vain, 
But  soon  some  answering  voice  shall  reach  my 

ear. 

Then  shall  the  brotherhood  of  peace  begin, 
And  the  new  song  be  raised  that  never  dies, 
That  shall  the  soul  from  death  and  darkness  win, 
And  burst  the  prison  where  the  captive  lies  ; 
And  one  by  one,  new-born,  shall  join  the  strain, 
Till  earth  restores  her  sons  to  heaven  again. 


NATURE.  99 


of  life* 

FOR  those  who  worship  Thee  there  is  no  death, 
For  all  they  do  is  but  with  Thee  to  dwell : 
Now  while  I  take  from  Thee  this  passing  breath, 
It  is  but  of  thy  glorious  name  to  tell ; 
Nor  words  nor  measured  sounds  have  I  to  find, 
But  in  them  both  my  soul  doth  ever  flow  ; 
They  come  as  viewless  as  the  unseen  wind, 
And  tell  thy  noiseless  steps  where'er  I  go ; 
The  trees  that  grow  along  thy  living  stream, 
And  from  its  springs  refreshment  ever  drink, 
Forever  glittering  in  thy  morning  beam 
They  bend  them  o'er  the  river's  grassy  brink, 
And,  as  more  high  and  wide  their  branches  grow, 
They  look  more  fair  within  the  depths  below. 


THE  morning  comes  ;  and  thickening  fogs  pre 
vail, 

Hanging  like  curtains  all  the  horizon  round, 
And  o'er  the  head  in  heavy  stillness  sail,  — 
So  still  is  day  it  seems  like  night  profound. 
But  see  !  the  mists  are  stirring,  rays  of  light 
Pierce  through  the  haze  as  struggling  to  be  free ; 
The  circle  round  grows  every  moment  bright, 


100  VERTS  POEMS. 

The  sun  is  breaking  forth  ;  't  is  he,  't  is  he  ! 
Quick  from  before  him  flies  each  sluggish  cloud, 
His  rays  have  touched  the  stream,  have  climbed 

the  hill ; 

The  sounds  of  life  increase,  all  blending  loud, 
The  hum  of  men,  nor  smallest  thing  is  still ; 
But  all  have  found  a  voice,  and  hail  their  king, 
The  words  of  man's  high  praise,  and  bird  with 

fluttering  wing. 


Qtyt  Jair 

THE  clear  bright  morning,  with  its  scented  air 
And  gayly  waving  flowers,  is  here  again ; 
Man's  heart  is  lifted  with  the  voice  of  prayer, 
And  peace  descends  as  falls  the  gentle  rain. 
The  tuneful  birds  that  all  night  long  have  slept, 
Take  up  at  dawn  the  evening's  dying  lay, 
When  sleep  upon  their  eyelids  gently  crept, 
And  stole  with  stealthy  craft  their  song  away. 
High  overhead  the  forest's  swaying  boughs 
Sprinkle  with  drops  of  dew  the  whistling  boy, 
As  to  the  field  he  early  drives  his  cows, 
More  than  content  with  this  his  low  employ. 
And  shall  not  joy  uplift  me  when  I  lead 
The  flocks  of  Christ  by  the  still  streams  to  feed  ? 


NATURE.  101 


&!)e  Hamble, 

THE  plants  that  careless  grow  shall  bloom  and 

bud, 

When  wilted  stands  man's  nicely  tended  flower ; 
E'en  on  the  unsheltered  waste,  or  pool's  dark 

mud, 

Spring  bells  and  lilies  fit  for  lady's  bower. 
Come  with  me,  I  will  show  you  where  they  grow ; 
The  tangled  vines  and  boughs  come  push  aside ; 
O'er  yonder  hill-top's  craggy  side  we  go, 
Then  by  the  path  beyond  we  downward  slide. 
See,  by  yond  pond  where  few  but  travelers  pass, 
Each  lily  opens  wide  its  curious  cup, 
And  here  where  now  we  track  the  unmown  grass, 
The  wild-heath  bell,  surprised,  is  looking  up 
To  view  the  strangers  that  thus  far  have  sought 
The    flowers    that    in   fair   Nature's   robe    are 

wrought. 


fftjie 

STAY  where  thou  art,  thou  need'st  not  further 

go, 

The  flower  with  me  is  pleading  at  thy  feet ; 
The  clouds,  the  silken  clouds,  above  me  flow, 
And  fresh  the  breezes  come  thy  cheek  to  greet. 


102  VERTS  POEMS. 

Why  hasten  on  ;  —  hast  thou  a  fairer  home  ? 
Has  God  more  richly  blest  the  world  than  here, 
That  thou  in  haste  would'st  from  thy  country 

roam, 

Favored  by  every  month  that  fills  the  year  ? 
Sweet  showers  shall  on  thee  here,  as  there,  de 
scend  ; 

The  sun  salute  thy  morn  and  gild  thy  eve : 
Come,  tarry  here,  for  Nature  is  thy  friend, 
And  we  an  arbor  for  ourselves  will  weave ; 
And  many  a  pilgrim,  journeying  on  as  thou, 
Will  grateful  bless  its  shade,  and  list  the  wind- 
struck  bough. 


Jteltr  an*  OTootr. 

WHENCE  didst  thou  spring,  or  art  thou  yet  un 
born; 

Who  treadst  with  slighting  foot  so  swift  along, 
Where  near  thee  rises  green  the  bladed  corn, 
And  from  the  tree  pours  forth  the  birds'  new 

song  ? 

Thy  heart  is  ever  flutt'ring,  ne'er  at  rest ; 
A  bird  that  e'er  would  soar  with  wily  art, 
Yet  when  she  seems  of  what  she  wished  possest, 
She  feels  the  strength  from  out  her  wings  de 
part. 

Learn  wisdom  from  the  sweet,  delaying  voice, 
And  from  its  melody  turn  not  thine  ear ; 


NATURE.  103 

With  springing  grain  in  slow  decay  rejoice, 
And  thou  at  one  shall  be  with  all  things  here ; 
And  thy  desires,  that  now  o'ertop  the  grain, 
Shall  with  its  growth  a  life  like  theirs  sustain. 


THE  hush  that  has  most  briars  and  bitter  fruit,  — 
Wait  till  the  frost  has  turned  its  green  leaves 

red, 

Its  sweetened  berries  will  thy  palate  suit, 
And  thou  may'st  find  e'en  there  a  homely  bread. 
Upon  the  hills  of  Salem,  scattered  wide, 
Their  yellow  blossoms  gain  the  eye  in  Spring ; 
And  straggling  e'en  upon  the  turnpike's  side, 
Their  ripened  branches  to  your  hand  they  bring. 
I  Ve  plucked  them  oft  in  boyhood's  early  hour, 
That  then  I  gave  such  name  and  thought  it  true  ; 
But  now  I  know  that  other  fruit  as  sour 
Grows  on  what  now  thou  callest  Me  and  You  / 
Yet,  wilt  thou  wait  the  Autumn  that  I  see, 
Will  sweeter  taste  than  these  red  berries  be. 


104  VERTS  POEMS. 


(Pe  jFrtttt 

THOU  ripenest  the  fruits  with  warmer  air 
That  Summer  brings  around  thy  goodly  trees, 
And  Thou  wilt  grant  a  summer  to  my  prayer, 
And   fruit   shall   glisten   from    these    fluttering 

leaves  ; 

A  fruit  that  shall  not  with  the  winter  fail, 
He  knows  110  winter  who  of  it  shall  eat, 
But  on  it  lives,  though  outward  storms  assail, 
Till  it  becomes  in  time  his  daily  meat : 
Then  he  shall  in  the  fruit  I  give  abound, 
And  hungry  pilgrims  hasten  to  the  bough, 
Where  the  true  bread  of  life  shall  then  be  found, 
Though  nought  they  spy  to  give  upon  it  now ; 
But  pass  it  by,  with  sorrowing  hearts  that  there 
But   leaves   have    grown  where    they  the  fruit 

would  share. 


THEY  love  me  not  who  at  my  table  eat ; 
They  live  not  on  the  bread  that  Thou  hast  given ; 
The  word  Thou  giv'st  is  not  their  daily  meat, 
The  bread  of  life  that  cometh  down  from  heaven. 
They  drink,  but  from  their  lips  the  waters  dry, 
There  is  no  well  that  gushes  up  within ; 


NATURE.  105 

And  for  the  meat  that  perishes  they  cry, 
When  Thou  has  vexed  their  souls  because  of  sin. 
Oh,  send  thy  laborers  !    Every  hill  and  field 
With  the  ungathered  crop  is  whitened  o'er  ; 
To  those  who  reap  it  shall  rich  harvests  yield, 
In  full-eared  grain  all  ripened  for  thy  store ;  — 
No  danger  can  they  fear  who  reap  with  Thee, 
Though  thick  with  storms  the  autumn  sky  may 
be. 


Cjje  latter  Bain* 

THE  latter  rain,  —  it  falls  in  anxious  haste 
Upon  the  sun-dried  fields  and  branches  bare, 
Loosening  with  searching  drops  the  rigid  waste, 
As  if  it  would  each  root's  lost  strength  repair ; 
But  not  a  blade  grows  green  as  in  the  spring, 
No  swelling  twig  puts  forth  its  thickening  leaves  ; 
The  robins  only  mid  the  harvests  sing, 
Pecking  the  grain  that  scatters  from  the  sheaves  : 
The  rain  falls  still,  —  the  fruit  all  ripened  drops, 
It  pierces  chestnut  burr  and  walnut  shell, 
The  furrowed  fields  disclose  the  yellow  crops, 
Each  bursting  pod  of  talents  used  can  tell, 
And  all  that  once  received  the  early  rain 
Declare  to  man  it  was  not  sent  in  vain. 


106  VERTS  POEMS. 


C&e  frost 

THE  frost  is  out,  and  in  the  open  fields, 
And  late  within  the  woods,  I  marked  his  track  ; 
The  unwary  flower  his  icy  fingers  feels, 
And  at  their  touch  the  crisped  leaf  rolls  back ;  — 
Look,  how  the  maple  o'er  a  sea  of  green 
Waves  in  the  autumnal  wind  his  flag  of  red  ! 
First  struck  of  all  the  forest's  spreading  screen, 
Most  beauteous,  too,  the  earliest  of  her  dead. 
Go  on  :  thy  task  is  kindly  meant  by  Him 
Whose  is  each  flower  and  richly  covered  bough ; 
And  though  the  leaves  hang  dead  on  every  limb, 
Still  will  I  praise  his  love,  that  early  now 
Has  sent  before  this  herald  of  decay 
To  bid  me  heed  the  approach  of  Winter's  sterner 
day. 


Sltttumn 


THE  winds  are  out  with  loud  increasing  shout, 
Where  late  before  them  walked  the  biting  frost, 
Whirling  the  leaves  in  their  wild  sport  about, 
And  twig  and  limb  athwart  our  path  are  tost. 
But  still  the  sun  looks  kindly  on  the  year, 
And  days  of  summer  warmth  will  linger  yet  ; 
And  still  the  birds  amid  the  fields  we  hear, 


NATURE.  107 

For  the  ripe  grain  and  scattered  seeds  they  get. 
The  shortening  days  grow  slowly  less  and  less, 
And  Winter  comes  with  many  a  warning  on ; 
And  still  some  day  with  kindly  smile  will  bless, 
Till  the  last  hope's  deceit  is  fledged  and  gone, 
Before  the  deepening  snows  block  up  the  way, 
And  the  sweet  fields  are  made  of  howling  blasts 
the  prey. 


Autumn  Leabe0. 

THE  leaves,  though  thick,  are  falling  :  one  by  one 
Decayed  they  drop  from  off  their  parent  tree  ; 
Their  work  with  Autumn's  latest  day  is  done,  — 
Thou  see'st  them  borne  upon  the  breezes  free. 
They  lie  strewn  here  and  there,  their  many  dyes 
That  yesterday  so  caught  thy  passing  eye  ; 
Soiled  by  the  rain  each  leaf  neglected  lies, 
Upon  the  path  where  now  thou  hurriest  by. 
Yet  think  thee  not  their  beauteous  tints  less  fair 
Than  when  they  hung  so  gayly  o'er  thy  head  ; 
But  rather  find  thee  eyes,  and  look  thee  there 
Where  now  thy  feet  so  heedless  o'er  them  tread, 
And  thou  shalt  see,  where  wasting  now  they  lie, 
The  unseen  hues  of  immortality. 


JDraper. 

WILT  Thou  not  visit  me  ? 
The  plant  beside  me  feels  thy  gentle  dew, 

And  every  blade  of  grass  I  see 
From  thy  deep    earth  its   quickening  moisture 
drew. 

Wilt  Thou  not  visit  me  ? 
Thy  morning  calls  on  me  with  cheering  tone ; 

And  every  hill  and  tree 
Lend  but  one  voice,  —  the  voice  of  Thee  alone. 

Come,  for  I  need  thy  love, 
More  than  the  flower  the  dew  or  grass  the  rain ; 

Come,  gently  as  thy  holy  dove ; 
And  let  me  in  thy  sight  rejoice  to  live  again. 

I  will  not  hide  from  them 

When  thy  storms  come,  though  fierce  may  be 
their  wrath, 

But  bow  with  leafy  stem, 
And  strengthened  follow  on  thy  chosen  path. 

Yes,  Thou  wilt  visit  me  : 
Nor  plant  nor  tree  thine  eye  delights  so  well, 

As,  when  from  sin  set  free, 
My  spirit  loves  with  thine  in  peace  to  dwell. 
(Ill) 


112  VERTS  POEMS. 

(£&e  Coming:  of  t&e  lortr. 

"  Take  ye  heed,  watch  and  pray  :  for  ye  know  not  when  the  time 
is."  — MARKxiii.  33. 

COME  suddenly,  O  Lord,  or  slowly  come : 
I  wait  thy  will ;  thy  servant  ready  is  : 
Thou  hast  prepared  thy  follower  a  home,  — 
The  heaven  in  which  Thou  dwellest,  too,  is  his. 

Come  in  the  morn,  at  noon,  or  midnight  deep  ; 
Come,  for  thy  servant  still  doth  watch  and  pray : 
E'en  when  the  world  around  is  sunk  in  sleep, 
I  wake  and  long  to  see  thy  glorious  day. 

I  would  not  fix  the  time,  the  day,  nor  hour, 
When  Thou  writh  all  thine  angels  shalt  appear ; 
When  in  thy  kingdom  Thou  shalt  come  with 

power,  — 
E'en  now,  perhaps,  the  promised  day  is  near ! 

For  though  in  slumber  deep  the  world  may  lie, 
And  e'en  thy  Church  forget  thy  great  command ; 
Still,  year  by  year,  thy  coming  draweth  nigh, 
And  in  its  power  thy  kingdom  is  at  hand. 

Not  in  some  future  world  alone  't  will  be, 
Beyond  the  grave,  beyond  the  bounds  of  time  ; 
But  on  the  earth  thy  glory  we  shall  see, 
And  share  thy  triumph,  peaceful,  pure,  sublime. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  113 

Lord,  help  me  that  I  faint  not,  weary  grow, 
Nor  at  thy  coming  slumber,  too,  and  sleep ; 
For  Thou  hast  promised,  and  full  well  I  know 
Thou  wilt  to  us  thy  word  of  promise  keep. 


&&e  Call. 

WHY  art  thou  not  awake,  my  son  ? 
The  morning  breaks  I  formed  for  thee  ; 
And  I  thus  early  by  thee  stand, 
Thy  new-awakening  life  to  see. 

Why  art  thou  not  awake,  my  son  ? 
The  birds  upon  the  bough  rejoice ; 
And  I  thus  early  by  thee  stand, 
To  hear  with  theirs  thy  tuneful  voice. 

Why  sleep'st  thou  still  ?    The  laborers  all 
Are  in  my  vineyard  :  hear  them  toil,  — 
As  for  the  poor,  with  harvest  song 
They  treasure  up  the  wine  and  oil. 

8 


114  VERTS  POEMS. 


C&e  Cottage. 

THE  house  my  earthly  parent  left 
My  heavenly  parent  still  throws  down, 
For  't  is  of  air  and  sun  bereft, 
Nor  stars  its  roof  with  beauty  crown. 

He  gave  it  me,  yet  gave  it  not 
As  one  whose  gifts  are  wise  and  good ; 
'T  was  but  a  poor  and  clay-built  cot, 
And  for  a  time  the  storms  withstood. 

But  lengthening  years  and  frequent  rain 
O'ercame  its  strength  :  it  tottered,  fell, 
And  left  me  homeless  here  again,  — 
And  where  to  go  I  could  not  tell. 

But  soon  the  light  and  open  air 
Received  me  as  a  wandering  child, 
And  I  soon  thought  their  house  more  fair, 
And  all  my  grief  their  love  beguiled. 

Mine  was  the  grove,  the  pleasant  field 
Where  dwelt  the  flowers  I  daily  trod  ; 
And  there  beside  them,  too,  I  kneeled 
And  called  their  friend,  my  Father,  God. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  115 


C&e  ((Tenant, 

TREES  shall  rise  around  thy  dwelling, 
When  thy  house  from  heaven  appears. 
Art  thou  that  thou  liv'st  in  selling, 
As  are  numbered  up  thy  years  ? 

Thou  canst  ne'er  have  leave  to  enter 
That  new  dwelling's  open  door  ; 
Where  thy  hopes  and  wishes  centre, 
Where  thy  friend  has  gone  before  ; 

Till  the  hut  where  now  thou  livest 
Low  is  leveled  with  the  ground  ; 
Then  thy  prayer  to  Him  who  givest 
Has  at  length  acceptance  found. 

Then,  though  poor,  yet  He  will  cherish, 
Whose  high  mansion  is  the  sky ; 
Houseless  left,  thou  shalt  not  perish 
'Neath  its  wide-spread  canopy. 

Quick,  then,  leave  some  poorer  dweller 
That  wherein  thou  livest  now; 
Better  far  awaits  the  seller, 
Richer  lands  his  oxen  plough. 


116  VERTS  POEMS. 


antf 


THE  comings  on  of  Faith, 

The  goings  out  of  Sight, 

Are  as  the  brightening  of  the  morn 

And  dying  of  the  night. 

Man  tells  not  of  the  hour,  — 

By  Him  alone  't  is  told, 

Who  day  and  night  with  certain  bounds 

Marked  out  for  him  of  old. 

The  singing  of  the  bird, 

And  sinking  of  her  strain  ; 

The  roar  of  ocean's  storm-lashed  waves 

And  lull  the  date  retain. 

The  fading  of  the  leaf, 

And  blending  of  each  hue  ; 

The  coming  hour  still  hold  in  truth, 

When  change  the  old  and  new. 

There  's  nought  in  Nature's  hymn, 
Of  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky, 
But  is  prophetic  of  the  time 
When  birth  to  death  is  nigh. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  117 


Silent. 

THERE  is  a  sighing  in  the  wood, 
A  murmur  in  the  beating  wave, 
The  heart  has  never  understood 
To  tell  in  words  the  thoughts  they  gave. 

Yet  oft  it  feels  an  answering  tone, 
When  wandering  on  the  lonely  shore  ; 
And  could  the  lips  its  voice  make  known, 
'T  would  sound  as  does  the  ocean's  roar. 

And  oft  beneath  the  wind-swept  pine, 
Some  chord  is  struck  the  strain  to  swell; 
Nor  sounds  nor  language  can  define,  — 
'T  is  not  for  words  or  sounds  to  tell. 

'T  is  all  unheard,  that  Silent  Voice, 
Whose  goings  forth,  unknown  to  all, 
Bids  bending  reed  and  bird  rejoice, 
And  fills  with  music  Nature's  hall. 

And  in  the  speechless  human  heart 
It  speaks,  where'er  man's  feet  have  trod  ; 
Beyond  the  lips'  deceitful  art, 
To  teU  of  Him,  the  Unseen  God. 


118  VERTS  POEMS. 


'T  is  not  that  Thou  hast  given  to  me 
A  form  which  mortals  cannot  see, 

That  I  rejoice  ; 

But  that  I  know  Thou  art  around, 
And  though  there  comes  to  me  no  sound, 

I  hear  thy  voice. 

'T  is  not  that  Thou  hast  given  me  place 
Among  a  new  and  happy  race, 

I  serve  thee,  Lord  ; 
But  that  thy  mercies  never  fail, 
And  shall  o'er  all  my  sins  prevail, 

Through  thine  own  word. 

Its  praise  has  gone  abroad  ;  who  hears, 
He  casts  aside  all  earthly  fears, 

By  it  he  lives  ; 

It  bids  him  triumph  o'er  the  grave, 
And  him  o'er  death  dominion  gave,  — 

Thy  joy  and  peace  it  gives. 

Hear  it,  ye  poor  !  and  ye  who  weep ! 
Arise,  who  lie  in  sin's  long  sleep  ! 

'T  is  strong  to  free ; 
Give  ear  and  it  shall  lead  you  on, 
Till  you  the  crown  again  have  won, 

And  me  and  mine  can  see. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  119 


of 


THE  light  that  fills  thy  house  at  morn, 
Thou  canst  not  for  thyself  retain  ; 
But  all  who  with  thee  here  are  born, 
It  bids  to  share  an  equal  gain. 

The  wind  that  blows  thy  ship  along, 
Her  swelling  sails  cannot  confine  ; 
Alike  to  all  the  gales  belong, 
Nor  canst  thou  claim  a  breath  as  thine. 

The  earth,  the  green  out-spreading  earth, 
Why  hast  thou  fenced  it  off  from  me  ? 
Hadst  thou  than  I  a  nobler  birth, 
Who  callest  thine  a  gift  so  free. 

The  wave,  the  blue  encircling  wave, 
No  chains  can  bind,  no  fetters  hold  ! 
Its  thunders  tell  of  Him  wrho  gave 
What  none  can  ever  buy  for  gold. 


120  VERTS  POEMS. 


g>ts!)t  of  t&e 

I  GAZED  afar  from  the  rocky  hill, 
As  if  I  never  could  drink  my  fill 
Of  the  prospect  fair,  the  ocean  wide, 
The  blue  bright  ocean  on  every  side. 

For  with  the  prospect  grew  my  mind, 
And  seemed  in  the  vast  expanse  to  find 
A  space  for  its  flight,  without  shore  or  bound, 
Save  the  sky  above  and  the  shore  around. 

But  soon  o'er  my  spirit  a  feeling  stole,  — 
A  sad,  lonely  feeling  I  could  not  control, 
Which  the  sight  of  the  ocean  doth  ever  bring, 
As  if,  like  the  soul,  't  were  a  living  thing. 

The  plaintive  wave,  as  it  broke  on  the  shore, 
Seemed  sighing  foi^rest  for  evermore, 
And  glad  at  length  the  land  to  reach, 
And  tell  its  tale  to  the  silent  beach. 

So  seemed  it  then  to  my  wandering  thought, 
That  in  the  vast  prospect  a  home  had  sought ; 
The  ship  o'er  the  waters  a  port  may  find, 
But  never  the  longing  and  restless  mind. 

As  night  o'er  the  ocean  its  shadow  threw, 
And  homeward  the  weary  sea-bird  flew, 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  121 

I  turned  from  the  dark  and  rocky  height, 
With  grateful  heart  to  my  hearth-stone  bright. 


WHENCE  came  this  morn,  this  glorious  morn, 
That  hill  and  valley  love  so  well  ? 
From  Thee  who  gave  me  voice  to  sing, 
For  they,  too,  of  thy  bounty  tell. 

Look  !  how  each  leaf  and  grassy  blade 
Return  the  glances  of  the  morn ; 
There  is  no  beauty  in  the  stream 
Bat  of  its  beauty,  too,  is  born. 

But  none  can  tell  how  fair  they  are, 
Who  do  not  with  the  morning  live ; 
And  in  its  light  find  life  with  them, 
And  like  them  always  praises  give. 

This  morn,  this  brightly-beaming  morn, 
Then  shall  they  know  it  came  from  Thee  ; 
For  they  shall  in  its  light  rejoice, 
And  own  that  they  thy  children  be. 


122  VERTS  POEMS. 


life, 

MY  flocks,  had'st  thou  e'er  seen  them,  where  they 

feed 

Upon  the  hills  and  flowery  vestured  plains, 
And  heard  me  pipe  to  them  on  shepherd's  reed,  — 
Then  would'st  thou  leave  fore'er  thy  sordid  gains, 

And  haste  thee  where  the  streams  so  gently  flow, 
Where  sounding  pines  and  rocks  above  me  rise, 
And  seek  this  quiet  life  of  mine  to  know, 
And  learn  with  me  its  simple  joys  to  prize. 

How  quietly  the  morning  melts  away 
Into  the  noon,  while  on  the  grass  I  lie ; 
And  noon  fades  quickly  into  evening  gray, 
When   troop   the  stars  across   the    o'erhanging 
sky. 

Here  day  by  day  I  know  nor  want  nor  care, 
For  all  I  need  has  Love  Paternal  given ; 
And  bid  me,  bounteous,  all  its  blessings  share, 
And  know  on  earth  the  bliss  of  those  in  heaven. 

Thine  be  the  shepherd's  life,  his  cot  be  thine, 
And  may'st  thou  sit  beside  him  at  his  board  ; 
Then  wilt  thou  cease  to  sorrow  or  repine, 
And  to  the  peace  Christ  gave  him  be  restored. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  123 


Batute. 

I  LOVE  to  sit  on  the  green  hill's  side, 

That  looks  around  on  a  prospect  wide, 

And  send  my  mind  far  away  to  rove 

O'er  flowery  meadow,  and  bending  grove 

That  looks  in  the  silent  depths  below 

At  the  stranger  woods  that  downward  grow ; 

And  fly  o'er  the  face  of  the  winding  stream 

With  the  beach  bird  that  starts  with  a  suddert 

scream ; 

Or  skim  with  the  gull  the  still,  calm  sea, 
Where  the  white  sail  sleeps  so  peacefully ; 
Till  I  all  forget  in  that  waking  dream, 
But  the  sky,  grove,  sea,  and  winding  stream. 

And  I  hie  me  to  the  wood's  green  breast, 
On  the  bird's  light  wing  that  seeks  her  nest, 
With  a  swifter  flight  than  she  sprang  away 
To  meet  the  bright  steps  of  new-born  day. 
Hark  !  from  the  spot  to  mother  so  dear, 
Break  sweet  the  cries  of  young  on  mine  ear. 
See !  on  the  sable  pine  grove  afar 
Rains  silver  light  from  Dian's  bright  car ; 
And  stars  steal  downward  with  lovely  ray, 
As  if  from  earth  to  call  me  away 
To  groves  where  the  flowers  of  a  deathless  bloom 
Breathe  o'er  a  land  unsullied  by  a  tomb. 


124  VERTS  POEMS. 

Oh,  grant  me  an  hour,  an  hour  like  this, 
To  drink  from  far  purer  streams  of  bliss 
Than  flow  near  the  dusty  paths  of  life, 
Uptost  by  mad'ning  passion  and  strife  ; 
For  my  mind  comes  back  with  a  lighter  spring 
Than  the  bird  from  her  weary  wandering,  — 
With  a  calm  more  deep  than  the  still,  bright  sea, 
Where  the  white  sail  sleeps  so  peacefully,  — 
To  join  the  world  of  care  again, 
And  look  on  the  struggles  and  strife  of  men 
With  an  eye  that  beams  with  as  pure  a  ray 
As  called  my  soul  from  these  scenes  away. 


C&e  Stoitt. 

MEN  tell  how  many  blossoms  will  appear 
On  every  tree  they  plant  and  hope  to  thrive  ; 
How  many  kernels  fill  the  yellow  ear, 
How  many  bees  shall  swarm  in  every  hive. 

When  Springs  but  come,  't  is  Autumn  here  with 

them; 

And  Summer  but  of  Winter's  cold  can  tell ; 
And  when  they  see  the  fruit  on  laden  stem, 
With  them  its  early  buds  begin  to  swell. 

'T  is  all  too  slow,  fair  Nature's  gentle  growth, 
Their  hopes  are  ripe  when  hers  but  bud  and 
bloom, 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  125 

And  they  accuse  her  equal  pace  of  sloth, 
And  cast  on  her  the  shadow  of  their  gloom. 

But  she,  kind  mother  of  her  children  all, 
With  voice  of  dove-like  meekness  gently  chides  : 
"  I  care  for  e'en  the  humble  sparrow's  fall, 
Alike  with  yon  bright  orb  that  o'er  thee  glides." 


I  ASK  not  what  the  bud  may  be 

That  hangs  upon  the  green-sheathed  stem  ; 

But  love  with  every  leaf  I  see, 

To  lie  unfolded  there  like  them. 

I  ask  not  what  the  tree  may  bear 
When  whitened  by  the  hand  of  Spring ; 
But  with  its  blossoms  on  the  air, 
Would  far  around  my  perfume  fling. 

The  infant's  joy  is  mine,  —  is  mine  ; 
I  join  its  infant  sports  in  glee, 
And  would  not  for  a  world  resign 
The  look  of  love  it  casts  on  me. 

Leave  not  the  bird  upon  the  wing, 
But  with  her  seek  her  shaded  nest, 
And  then  with  voice  like  hers  thou  'It  sing, 
When  life's  last  sunbeam  gilds  the  west. 


126  VERTS  POEMS. 


I  LITE  but  in  the  present,  —  where  art  thou  ? 
Hast  thou  a  home  in  some  past,  future  year  ? 
I  call  to  thee  from  every  leafy  bough, 
But  thou  art  far  away  and  canst  not  hear. 

Each  flower  lifts  up  its  red  or  yellow  head, 
And  nods  to  thee  as  thou  art  passing  by : 
Hurry  not  on,  but  stay  thine  anxious  tread, 
And  thou  shalt  live  with  me,  for  there  am  I. 

The  stream  that  murmurs  by  thee  heeds  its  voice, 
Nor  stop  thine  ear,  't  is  I  that  bid  it  flow  ; 
And  thou  with  its  glad  waters  shalt  rejoice, 
And  of  the  life  I  live  within  them  know. 

And  hill,  and  grove,  and  flowers,  and  running 

stream, 
"When  thou  dost  live  with  them  shall  look  more 

fair; 

And  thou  awake  as  from  a  cheating  dream, 
The  life  to-day  with  me  and  mine  to  share. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  127 


dTie  Uoue  of 

THEY  told  me,  when  my  heart  was  glad, 
And  all  around  but  said,  rejoice,  — 
They  told  me,  and  it  made  me  sad, 
The  thunder  was  God's  angry  voice. 

And  then  I  thought  that  from  the  sky, 
Throned  monarch  o'er  a  guilty  world, 
His  glance  —  the  lightning  flashing  by  — 
His  hand  the  bolts  of  ruin  hurled. 

But  now  I  learn  a  holier  creed 
Than  that  my  infancy  was  taught : 
'T  is  from  the  words  of  love  I  read 
That  the  sweet  lips  of  Nature  caught. 

Yes,  't  was  my  Father's  voice  I  feared  : 
It  fills  the  heaven,  the  wide-spread  earth  ; 
It  called  in  every  tone  that  cheered 
Those  rosy  hours  of  childhood's  mirth. 

'T  is  only  on  the  heedless  ear 
It  breaks  in  thunder's  pealing  wrath, 
Winging  the  wanderer's  feet  with  fear 
To  fly  destruction's  flaming  path. 

God  dwells  no  more  afar  from  me, 
In  all  that  lives  his  voice  is  heard ; 


128  VERTS  POEMS. 

From  the  loud  shout  of  rolling  sea 
To  warbled  song  of  morning's  bird. 

In  all  that  stirs  the  human  breast, 
That  wakes  to  mirth  or  draws  the  tear, 
In  passion's  storm  or  soul's  calm  rest, 
Alike  the  voice  of  God  I  h  ear 


(£0  tje  Paintefc  Columbine* 

BRIGHT  image  of  the  early  years, 
When  glowed  my  cheek  as  red  as  thou, 
And  life's  dark  throng  of  cares  and  fears 
Were  swift-winged  shadows  o'er  my  sunny  brow  ! 

Thou  blushest  from  the  painter's  page, 
Robed  in  the  mimic  tints  of  art ; 
But  Nature's  hand  in  youth's  green  age 
With  fairer  hues  first  traced  thee  on  my  heart. 

The  morning's  blush,  she  made  it  thine, 
The  morn's  sweet  breath,  she  gave  it  thee, 
And  in  thy  look,  my  Columbine, 
Each  fond-remembered  spot  she  bade  me  see. 

I  see  the  hill's  far-gazing  head, 
Where  gay  thou  noddest  in  the  gale ; 
I  hear  light-bounding  footsteps  tread 
The  grassy  path  that  winds  along  the  vale. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  129 

I  hear  the  voice  of  woodland  song 
Break  from  each  bush  and  well-known  tree, 
And  on  light  pinions  borne  along, 
Comes  back  the  laugh  from  childhood's  heart  of 
glee. 

O'er  the  dark  rock  the  dashing  brook, 
With  look  of  anger,  leaps  again, 
And,  hastening  to  each  flowery  nook, 
Its  distant  voice  is  heard  far  down  the  glen. 

Fair  child  of  art !  thy  charms  decay, 
Touched  by  the  withered  hand  of  Time  ; 
And  hushed  the  music  of  that  day, 
When   my  voice  mingled  with   the  streamlet's 
chime ; 

But  on  my  heart  thy  cheek  of  bloom 
Shall  live  when  Nature's  smile  has  fled ; 
And,  rich  with  memory's  sweet  perfume, 
Shall  o'er  her  grave  thy  tribute  incense  shed. 

There  shalt  thou  live  and  wake  the  glee 
That  echoed  on  thy  native  hill ; 
And  when,  loved  flower,  I  think  of  thee, 
My  infant  feet  will  seem  to  seek  thee  still. 


130  VERTS  POEMS. 


Sttttttmn 

STILL  blooming  on,   when  Summer  flowers  all 

fade, 

The  golden-rods  and  asters  fill  the  glade ; 
The  tokens  they  of  an  Exhaustless  Love 
That  ever  to  the  end  doth  constant  prove. 

To  one  fair  tribe  another  still  succeeds, 
As  still  the  heart  new  forms  of  beauty  needs ; 
Till  these  bright  children  of  the  waning  year, 
Its  latest  born,  have  come  our  souls  to  cheer. 

They  glance  upon  us  from  their  fringed  eyes, 
And  to  their  look  our  own  in  love  replies  ; 
Within  our  hearts  we  find  for  them  a  place, 
As  for  the  flowers  which  early  spring-time  grace. 

Despond  not,  traveler  !     On  life's  lengthened  way, 
When  all  thy  early  friends  have  passed  away ; 
Say  not,  "No  more  the  beautiful  doth  live, 
And  to  the  earth  a  bloom  and  fragrance  give." 

To  every  season  has  our  Father  given 
Some  tokens  of  his  love  to  us  from  heaven ; 
Nor  leaves  us  here,  uncheered,  to  walk  alone, 
When  all  we  loved  and  prized  in  youth  have 
gone. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  131 

Let  but  thy  heart  go  forth  to  all  around, 
Still  by  thy  side  the  beautiful  is  found ; 
Along  thy  path  the  autumn  flowers  shall  smile, 
And  to  its  close  life's  pilgrimage  beguile. 


(ZTn  tj)e  fossil  jFlotoer* 

DARK  fossil  flower  !  I  see  thy  leaves  unrolled, 
With  all  thy  lines  of  beauty  freshly  marked, 
As  when  the  eye  of  Morn  beamed  on  thee  first, 
And  thou  first  turn'dst  to  meet  its  welcome  smile. 
And  sometimes  in   the    coals'   bright   rainbow 

hues 

I  dream  I  see  the  colors  of  thy  prime, 
And  for  a  moment  robe  thy  form  again 
In  splendor  not  its  own.     Flower  of  the  past ! 
Now,  as  I  look  on  thee,  life's  echoing  tread 
Falls  noiseless  on  my  ear,  —  the  present  dies  ; 
And  o'er  my  soul  the  thoughts  of  distant  time, 
In  silent  waves,  like  billows  from  the  sea, 
Come  rolling  on  and  on,  with  ceaseless  flow, 
Innumerable.      Thou   may'st   have   sprung   un 
sown 

Into  thy  noon  of  life,  when  first  earth  heard 
Its  Maker's  sovereign  voice  ;  and  laughing  flowers 
Waved  o'er  the   meadows,   hung   on   mountain 

crags, 

And  nodded  in  the  breeze  on  every  hill. 
Thou  may'st  have  bloomed  unseen,  save  by  the 
stars 


132  VERTS  POEMS. 

That  sang  together  o'er  thy  rosy  birth, 
And  came  at  eve  to  watch  thy  folded  rest. 
None  may  have   sought   thee   on   thy  fragrant 

home, 
Save  light-voiced  winds  that  round  thy  dwelling 

played, 

Or  seemed  to  sigh,  as  oft  their  winged  haste 
Compelled  their  feet  to  roam.    Thou  may'st  have 

lived 

Beneath  the  light  of  later  days,  when  man, 
With  feet  free-roving  as  the  homeless  wind, 
Scaled  the  thick-mantled  height,  coursed  plains 

unshorn, 

Breaking  the  solitude  of  nature's  haunt 
With  voice  that  seemed  to  blend,  in  one  sweet 

strain, 

The  mingled  music  of  the  elements. 
And  when  against  his  infant  frame  they  rose, 
Uncurbed,  unawed  by  his  yet  feeble  hand, 
And  when  the  muttering   storm,   and  shouting 

wave, 

And  rattling  thunder,  mated,  round  him  raged, 
And  seemed  at  times  like  demon  foes  to  gird, 
Thou    may'st   have   won  with  gentle   look   his 

heart, 

And  stirred  the  first  warm  prayer  of  gratitude, 
And  been  his  first,  his  simplest  altar-gift. 
For  thee,   dark  flower,    the   kindling   sun    can 

bring 
No  more  the  colors  that  it  gave,  nor  morn, 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  133 

With  kindly  kiss,  restore  thy  breathing  sweets  : 
Yet  may  the  mind's  mysterious  touch  recall 
The  bloom  and  fragrance  of  thy  early  prime : 
For  He  who  to  the  lowly  lily  gave 
A  glory  richer  than  to  proudest  king, 
He  painted  not  those  darkly-shining  leaves, 
With  blushes  like  the  dawn,  in  vain ;  nor  gave 
To  thee  its  sweetly-scented  breath,  to  waste 
Upon  the  barren  air.     E'en  though  thou  stood 
Alone  in  nature's  forest-home  untrod, 
The  first-love  of  the  stars  and  sighing  winds, 
The  mineral  holds  with  faithful  trust  thy  form, 
To  wake  in  human  hearts  sweet  thoughts  of  love, 
Now  the  dark  past  hangs  round  thy  memory. 


©Itr  Boafc. 


THE  road  is  left  that  once  was  trod 
By  man  and  heavy-laden  beast  ; 
And  new  ways  opened,  iron-shod, 
That  bind  the  land  from  west  to  east. 

I  asked  of  Him,  who  all  things  knows, 
Why  none  who  lived  now  passed  that  way  ; 
Where  rose  the  dust  the  grass  now  grows  ? 
A  still,  low  voice  was  heard  to  say  : 

"  Thou  know'st  not  why  I  change  the  course 
Of  him  who  travels,  learn  to  go  ;  — 


134  VERTS  POEMS. 

Obey  the  Spirit's  gentle  force, 

Nor  ask  thee  where  the  stream  may  flow. 

"  Man  shall  not  walk  in  his  own  ways, 
For  he  is  blind  and  cannot  see ; 
But  let  him  trust,  and  lengthened  days 
Shall  lead  his  feet  to  heaven  and  Me. 

"  Then  shall  the  grass  the  path  grow  o'er, 
That  his  own  wilfulness  has  trod ; 
And  man  nor  beast  shall  pass  it  more, 
But  he  shall  walk  with  Me,  his  God." 


I  SAW  a  worm,  —  with  many  a  fold 
He  spun  himself  a  silken  tomb  ; 
And  there  in  winter-time  enrolled, 
He  heeded  not  the  cold  nor  gloom. 

Within  a  small  snug  nook  he  lay, 

Nor  snow  nor  sleet  could  reach  him  there, 

Nor  wind  was  felt  in  gusty  day, 

Nor  biting  cold  of  frosty  air. 

Spring  comes  with  bursting  buds  and  grass, 
Around  him  stirs  a  warmer  breeze  ; 
The  chirping  insects  by  him  pass,  — 
His  liiding-place  not  yet  he  leaves. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  135 

But  Summer  came,  its  fervid  breath 
Was  felt  within  the  sleeper's  cell ; 
And  waking  from  his  sleep  of  death, 
I  saw  him  crawl  from  out  his  shell. 

Slow  and  with  pain  he  first  moved  on, 
And  of  the  dust  he  seemed  to  be ; 
A  day  passed  by,  the  worm  was  gone,  — 
He  soared  on  golden  pinions  free. 


(E&e 

THOU  sing'st  alone  on  the  bare  wintry  bough, 
As  if  Spring  with  its  leaves  were  around  thee 

now ; 
And  its  voice  that  was  heard  in  the  laughing 

rill, 
And  the  breeze  as  it  whispered  o'er  meadow  and 

hill, 

Still  fell  on  thine  ear,  as  it  murmured  along 
To  join  the  sweet  tide  of   thine   own   gushing 

song. 
Sing  on  —  though  its  sweetness  was  lost  on  the 

blast, 
And  the  storm  has  not  heeded  thy  song  as  it 

passed, 

Yet  its  music  awoke  in  a  heart  that  was  near, 
A  thought  whose  remembrance  will  ever  prove 

dear; 


136  VERTS  POEMS. 

Though  the  brook  may  be  frozen,  though  silent 

its  voice, 
And  the  gales  through  the  meadows  no  longer 

rejoice, 
Still  I  felt,  as  my  ear  caught  thy  glad  note  of 

glee, 
That  my  heart  in  life's  winter  might  carol  like 

thee. 


Co  t&e  |)umnuna;'-33tr&. 

I  CANNOT  heal  thy  green  gold  breast, 
Where  deep  those  cruel  teeth  have  prest, 
Nor  bid  thee  raise  thy  ruffled  crest 

And  seek  thy  mate, 
Who  sits  alone  within  thy  nest, 

Nor  sees  thy  fate. 

No  more  with  him  in  summer  hours 
Thou  'It  hum  amid  the  leafy  bowers, 
Nor  hover  round  the  dewy  flowers, 

To  feed  thy  young ; 
Nor  seek,  when  evening  darkly  lowers, 

Thy  nest  high  hung. 

No  more  thou  'It  know  a  mother's  care 
Thy  honeyed  spoils  at  eve  to  share, 
Nor  teach  thy  tender  brood  to  dare, 
With  upward  spring, 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  137 

Their  path  through  fields  of  sunny  air, 
On  new-fledged  wing. 

For  thy  return  in  vain  shall  wait 

Thy  tender  young,  thy  fond,  fond  mate, 

Till  night's  last  stars  beam  forth  full  late 

On  their  sad  eyes  : 
Unknown,  alas,  thy  cruel  fate, 

Unheard  thy  cries ! 


lined 

TO  A  WITHERED  LEAF  SEEN  ON  A  POET'S  TABLE. 

POET'S  hand  has  placed  thee  there, 
Autumn's  brown  and  withered  scroll ! 
Though  to  outward  eye  not  fair, 
Thou  hast  beauty  for  the  soul, 

Though  no  human  pen  has  traced 
On  that  leaf  its  learned  lore, 
Love  Divine  the  page  has  graced,  — 
What  can  words  discover  more  ? 

Not  alone  dim  Autumn's  blast 
Echoes  from  yon  tablet  sear,  — 
Distant  music  of  the  Past 
Steals  upon  the  poet's  ear. 


138  VERTS  POEMS. 

Voices  sweet  of  summer  hours, 
Spring's  soft  whispers  murmur  by  ; 
Feathered  songs  from  leafy  bowers 
Draw  his  listening  soul  on  high. 


lines 

TO  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HIS  FRIEND. 

"Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  earth  as  it  was,  and  the  spirit 
unto  God  who  gave  it." 

SHE  sleeps  not  where  the  gladsome  earth 
Its  dark  green  growth  of  verdure  waves, 
And  where  the  winds'  low-whispering  mirth 
Steals  o'er  the  silent  graves. 

She  sleeps  not  where  the  wild  rose  lends 
Its  fragrance  to  the  morning  air, 
And  where  thy  form  at  evening  bends 
To  raise  the  voice  of  prayer. 

She  sleeps  not  where  the  wandering  wing 
Of  weary  bird  will  oft  repose, 
And  bid  Death's  lonely  dwelling  ring 
When  shades  around  it  close. 

She  sleeps  not  there — the  wild-flowers'  blush 
Would  kindle  up  her  closed  eye  ; 
She  could  not  hear  sweet  music's  gush 
Pass  all  unheeded  by. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  139 

Vain,  vain  would  earth  call  forth  again 
Her  children  from  their  narrow  bed  ; 
The  soul  that  loved  her  joyous  strain 
Has  fled  —  forever  fled. 

The  spirit's  robe  earth  gave  is  there, 
Where  leans  yon  wild-flower's  cheek  of  bloom, 
"Where  rises  oft  thy  voice  of  prayer,  — 
The  S2)irit  has  no  tomb. 


THE  weight  of  years  is  on  the  pile 
Our  fathers  raised  to  Thee,  O  God : 
On  this,  our  temple,  rest  thy  smile, 
Till  bent  with  days  its  tower  shall  nod. 

Thy  word  awoke,  O  Power  Divine ! 
The  hymn  of  praise  in  Nature's  hall : 
'T  is  man's  high  gift  to  rear  thy  shrine, 
And  on  Thee  as  his  Father  call. 

To  pour  in  music's  solemn  strain 
The  heart's  deep  tide  of  grateful  love ; 
And  kindle  in  thine  earthly  fane 
A  spirit  for  his  home  above. 

Thou  bad'st  him  on  thine  altar  lay 
The  holy  thought,  the  pure  desire ; 

i  For  the  Dedication  of  the  Church  of  the  North  Society  in  Salem, 
June  22,  1836. 


140  VERTS  POEMS. 

That  light  within,  a  brighter  ray 
Than  sunbeam's  glance,  or  vestal  fire. 

'T  will  burn  when  Heaven's  high  altar  flame 
On  yon  blue  height  has  ceased  to  glow ; 
And  o'er  earth's  dark,  dissolving  frame 
The  sunlight  of  the  Spirit  throw. 

Father  !  within  thy  courts  we  bow, 
To  ask  thy  blessing,  seek  thy  grace : 
Oh,  smile  upon  thy  children  now  ! 
Look  down  on  this,  thy  hallowed  place  ! 

And  when  its  trembling  walls  shall  feel 
Time's  heavy  hand  upon  them  rest, 
Thy  nearer  presence,  Lord,  reveal, 
And  make  thy  children  wholly  blest. 


JHetnorp. 

SOON  the  waves  so  lightly  bounding 
All  forget  the  tempest  blast ; 

Soon  the  pines  so  sadly  sounding 

Cease  to  mourn  the  storm  that 's  past. 

Soon  is  hushed  the  voice  of  gladness 
Heard  within  the  green  wood's  breast ; 

Yet  come  back  no  notes  of  sadness, 
No  remembrance  breaks  its  rest. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  141 

But  the  heart,  —  how  fond  't  will  treasure 

Every  note  of  grief  and  joy ! 
Oft  come  back  the  notes  of  pleasure, 

Grief's  sad  echoes  oft  annoy. 

There  still  dwell  the  looks  that  vanish 

Swift  as  brightness  of  a  dream ; 
Time  in  vain  earth's  smiles  may  banish, 

There  undying  still  they  beam. 


C&e  33unc&  of  f  lotocrc. 

I  SAW  a  bunch  of  flowers,  and  Time 
With  withered  hand  was  plucking  one ; 
I  wondering  asked  him,  as  I  passed, 
For  what  the  thing  I  saw  was  done. 

"My  gifts  are  these,  the  flowers  you  see, 
For  her  who  comes  I  hold  this  rose  ;  " 
I  looked :  the  nurse  held  out  her  child, 
Just  wakened  from  its  sweet  repose. 

Its  small  hand  clasped  the  prize  with  joy, 
Each  seemed  the  other  to  the  eye  ; 
But  soon  the  flowers'  bright  leaves  were  strown, 
And  while  I  gazed  a  youth  passed  by. 

The  flower  Time  gave  to  him  he  held, 
And  more  admired ;  and  kept  awhile  ; 


142  VERTS  POEMS. 

Yet  as  I  watched  him  on  his  way, 

'T  was  dropped  ere  he  had  paced  a  mile. 

Man  kept  it  longer  :  't  was  to  him  a  gift, 
And  with  it  long  was  loath  to  part ; 
But  as  he  journeyed  on,  I  saw 
The  rose  lay  withered  on  his  heart. 

One  aged  came  :  still  he  received  Time's  gift ; 
But  as  he  took  it  heaved  a  sigh  : 
It  dropped  from  out  his  trembling  grasp,  — 
And  at  Time's  feet  his  offerings  lie. 

Then  knew  I  none  could  bear  away  the  flower 
That  Time  on  each  and  all  bestows ; 
Nor  would  I  take  his  gift  when  he 
To  me  in  turn  held  out  a  rose. 


<£|)ett,  fttsacea,  Pofitjume,  Postjume,  lafctmtttr 


FLEETING  years  are  ever  bearing, 
In  their  silent  course  away, 

All  that  in  our  pleasures  sharing 
Lent  to  life  a  cheering  ray. 

Beauty's  cheek  but  blooms  to  wither, 
Smiling  hours  but  come  to  fly  ; 

They  are  gone  :  Time  's  but  the  giver 
Of  whate'er  is  doomed  to  die. 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  143 

Thou  may'st  touch  with  blighting  finger 
All  that  sense  can  here  enjoy  ; 

Yet  within  my  soul  shall  linger 

That  which  thou  canst  not  destroy. 

Love's  sweet  voice  shall  there  awaken 
Joys  that  earth  cannot  impart : 

Joys  that  live  when  thou  hast  taken 
All  that  here  can  charm  the  heart. 

As  the  years  come  gliding  by  me, 

Fancy's  pleasing  visions  rise  ; 
Beauty's  cheek,  ah  !  still  I  see  thee, 

Still  your  glances,  soft  blue  eyes  ! 


QTije  SMorft. 

'T  is  all  a  great  show 

The  world  that  we  're  in : 
None  can  tell  when  't  was  finished, 

None  saw  it  begin  ; 
Men  wander  and  gaze  through 

Its  courts  and  its  halls,  — 
Like  children  whose  love  is 

The  picture-hung  walls. 

There  are  flowers  in  the  meadow, 
There  are  clouds  in  the  sky, 

Songs  pour  from  the  woodland, 
The  waters  glide  by  :  — 


144  VERTS  POEMS. 

Too  many,  too  many 

For  eye  or  for  ear, 
The  sights  that  we  see 

And  the  sounds  that  we  hear. 

A  weight  as  of  slumber 

Comes  down  on  the  mind  ; 
So  swift  is  Life's  train 

To  its  objects  we  're  blind ; 
I,  myself,  am  but  one 

In  the  fleet  gliding  show ; 
Like  others  I  walk, 

But  know  not  where  I  go. 

One  saint  to  another 

I  heard  say,  "  How  long?  " 
I  listened,  but  nought  more 

I  heard  of  his  song. 
The  shadows  are  walking 

Through  city  and  plain 
How  long  shall  the  night 

And  its  shadow  remain  ? 

How  long  ere  shall  shine, 

In  this  glimmer  of  things, 
The  Light  of  which  prophet 

In  prophecy  sings  ; 
And  the  gates  of  that  city 

Be  open,  whose  sun 
No  more  to  the  west 

Its  circuit  shall  run ! 


SONG  AND  PRAISE.  145 


Uoice* 


MY  mother's  voice  !  I  hear  it  now  ; 
I  feel  her  hand  upon  my  brow, 

As  when  in  heartfelt  joy 
She  raised  her  evening  hymn  of  praise, 
And  called  down  blessings  on  the  days 

Of  her  loved  boy. 

My  mother's  voice  !  I  hear  it  now  ; 
Her  hand  is  on  my  burning  brow, 

As  in  that  early  hour 

"When  fever  throbbed  through  all  my  veins, 
And  that  fond  hand  first  soothed  my  pains 

With  healing  power. 

My  mother's  voice  !  It  sounds  as  when 
She  read  to  me  of  holy  men, 

The  Patriarchs  of  old  : 
And,  gazing  downward  in  my  face, 
She  seemed  each  infant  thought  to  trace 

My  young  eyes  told. 

It  comes  —  when  thoughts  unhallowed  throng, 
Woven  in  sweet  deceptive  song, 
%j   And  whispers  round  my  heart  ; 
As  when  at  eve  it  rose  on  high 
10 


146  VERTS  POEMS. 

I  hear,  and  think  that  she  is  nigh, 
And  they  depart. 

Though  round  my  heart  all,  all  beside, 
The  voice  of  Friendship,  Love  had  died, 

That  voice  would  linger  there  ; 
As  when,  soft  pillowed  on  her  breast, 
Its  tones  first  lulled  my  infant  rest, 
Or  rose  in  prayer. 


jForebermore* 

A  SAD  refrain  I  heard,  from  poet  sad, 

Which  on  my  soul  with  deadening  weight  did 

fall; 

But  quick  another  word,  which  made  me  glad, 
Did  from  the  heavens  above  me  seem  to  call. 
The  first  was  Nevermore  ;  which,  like  a  knell, 
Struck  on  my  ear  with  dull  funereal  sound  ; 
The  last  was  Evermore ;  which,  like  a  bell, 
In  waves  of  music  filled  the  air  around. 
Forevermore  with  loved  and  lost  to  be, 
No  more  to  suffer  change,  nor  grief,  nor  pain  ; 
From  partings  sad  to  be  forever  free,  — 
Such  was  that  sweet  bell's  music  :  —  its  refrain 
Blended  with  voices  from  the  heavenly  shore, 
Each  whispering  to  my  heart,  Forevermore. 


Cfjc  Beginning  anb  tlje  <Cn&* 


WHAT  is  the  word  ?  I  often  hear  men  say, 
Greeting  each  other  in  the  mart  or  street ; 
Seeking  for  something  new,  from  day  to  day, 
Of   friend   or   neighbor   whom   they   chance  to 

meet. 

The  question  wakes  in  me  the  thoughtful  mind  ; 
Do  they  receive  the  word  they  ask  to  hear  ? 
Or  is  it  only  like  the  passing  wind, 
Or  empty  echo  dying  on  the  ear  ? 
The  Word,  O  Man,  is  not  some  idle  sound, 
Lost  on  the  ear  almost  as  soon  as  heard: 
Unto  the  wise  life-giving  it  is  found, 
And  by  its  voice  the  inmost  soul  is  stirred : 
It  falls  not  on  the  ground  a  barren  seed, 
But  springeth  up  in  fruitful  thought  and  deed. 

II. 

The  voice  that  speaks  when  thou  art  in  thy  tomb, 
And  spoke  before  thou  saw'st  the  morning  light ; 
This  is  The  Word !  of  all  that  is  the  womb, 
Of  all  that  see,  the  never-failing  sight ; 
Speechless,  yet  ever  speaking,  none  can  hear 
The  man  grown  silent  in  the  praise  of  God  ; 
(149) 


150  VERTS  POEMS. 

For  they  within  Him  live,  to  hope  and  fear  ; 
They  walk  and  speak ;    but    He,  —  the    grass- 
grown  sod. 

Its  presence  round  them  calls  them  forth  to  It, 
A  voice  too  great  for  murmur  or  reproof ; 
A  sun  that  shines  till  they  of  It  are  lit, 
Itself  the  utterance  of  Eternal  Truth  : 
Perfect,  without  a  blemish  ;  never  found 
Save   through   the   veil   that   wraps    thy    being 
round. 


(ZTJe  Horiu 

THOU  art :  there  is  no  stay  but  in  thy  love  ; 
Thy  strength  remains  ;  it  built  the  eternal  hills  ; 
It  speaks  the  Word  forever  heard  above, 
And  all  creation  with  its  presence  fills  ; 
Upon  it  let  me  stand,  and  I  shall  live ; 
Thy  strength  shall  fasten  me  forever  fixed, 
And  to  my  soul  its  sure  foundations  give, 
When  earth  and  sky  thy  Word  in  one  has  mixed. 
Rooted  in  Thee  no  storm  my  branch  shall  tear, 
But  with  each  day  new  sap  shall  upward  flow  ; 
And  still  thy  vine  the  clustering  fruit  shall  bear, 
That  with  each  rain  the  lengthening  shoots  may 

grow, 

Till  o'er  thy  Rock  its  leaves  spread  far  and  wide, 
And  in  its  green  embrace  its  Parent  hide. 


THE  BEGINNING  AND    THE  END.       151 


dT&e  loftier. 

HE  was  not  armed  like  those  of  eastern  clime, 
Whose  heavy  axes  felled  their  heathen  foe  ; 
Nor  was  he  clad  like  those  of  later  time, 
Whose  breast-worn  cross  betrayed  no  cross  be 
low  ; 

Nor  was  he  of  the  tribe  of  Levi  born, 
Whose  pompous  rites  proclaim  how  vain  their 

prayer  ; 
Whose  chilling  words  are  heard  at  night  and 

morn, 
Who  rend  their  robes,  but  still  their  hearts  would 

spare. 

But  he  nor  steel  nor  sacred  robe  had  on, 
Yet  went  he  forth  in  God's  almighty  power  : 
He  spoke  the  Word  whose  will  is  ever  done 
From  day's  first  dawn  till  earth's  remotest  hour ; 
And  mountains  melted  from  his  presence  down, 
And  hell,  affrighted,  fled  before  his  frown. 


I  SAW  a  war  :  yet  none  the  trumpet  blew, 

Nor  in  their  hands  the  steel-wrought  weapons 

bare ; 
And  in  that  conflict  armed  there  fought  but  few, 


152  VERTS  POEMS. 

And  none  that  in  the  world's  loud  tumults  share  ; 

They  fought  against  their  wills,  —  the  stubborn 
foe 

That  mail-clad  warriors  left  unfought  within, 

And  wordy  champions  left  unslain  below,  — 

The  ravening  wolf  though  drest  in  fleecy  skin. 

They  fought  for  peace,  —  not  that  the  world  can 
give; 

Whose  tongue  proclaims  the  war  its  hands  have 
ceased, 

And  bids  us  as  each  other's  neighbor  live, 

Ere  haughty  Self  within  us  has  deceased ; 

They  fought  for  Him  whose  kingdom  must  in 
crease, 

Good  will  to  men,  on  earth  forever  peace. 


Hatltoatr. 

THOU  great  proclaimer  to  the  outward  eye 
Of  what  the  Spirit,  too,  would  seek  to  tell : 
Onward  thou  go'st,  appointed  from  on  high 
The  other  warnings  of  the  Lord  to  swell. 
Thou  art  the  voice  of  one  that  through  the  world 
Proclaims  in  startling  tones,  "  Prepare  the  way  ;  " 
The  lofty  mountain  from  its  seat  is  hurled, 
The  flinty  rocks  thine  onward  march  obey  ; 
The  valleys,  lifted  from  their  lowly  bed, 
O'ertop  the  hills  that  on  them  frowned  before  ; 
Thou  passest  where  the  living  seldom  tread, 


THE  BEGINNING  AND    THE  END.      153 

Through  forests  dark,  where  tides  beneath  thee 
roar  ; 

And  bid'st  man's  dwelling  from  thy  track  re 
move, 

And  would'st  with  warning  voice  his  crooked 
paths  reprove. 


lobe. 

I  ASKED  of  Time  to  tell  me  where  was  Love  : 
He  pointed  to  her  footsteps  on  the  snow, 
Where  first  the  angel  lighted  from  above, 
And  bid  me  note  the  way  and  onward  go. 
Through    populous    streets    of   cities    spreading 

wide, 

By  lonely  cottage  rising  on  the  moor, 
Where  bursts  from  sundered  cliff  the  struggling 

tide, 

To  where  it  hails  the  sea  with  answering  roar, 
She  led  me  on ;  o'er  mountain's  frozen  head, 
Where  mile  on  mile  still  stretches  on  the  plain, 
Then  homeward  whither  first  my  feet  she  led, 
I  traced  her  path  along  the  snow  again  ; 
But  there  the  sun  had  melted  from  the  earth 
The  prints  where  first  she  trod,  a  child  of  mortal 

birth. 


154  VERTS  POEMS. 


THY  beauty  fades,  and  with  it,  too,  my  love  ; 
For    't  was    the    self-same    stock   that    bore   its 

flower. 

Soft  fell  the  rain,  and,  breaking  from  above, 
The  sun  looked  out  upon  our  nuptial  hour ; 
And  I  had  thought  forever  by  thy  side 
With  bursting  buds  of  hope  in  youth  to  dwell, 
But  one  by  one  Time  strewed  thy  petals  wide, 
And  every  hope's  wan  look  a  grief  can  tell : 
For  I  had  thoughtless  lived  beneath  his  sway, 
Who  like  a  tyrant  dealeth  with  us  all, 
Crowning  each  rose,  though  rooted  on  decay, 
With  charms  that  shall  the  Spirit's  love  enthrall, 
And  for  a  season  turn  the  soul's  pure  eyes 
From  virtue's  changeless  bloom  that  time  and 

death  defies. 


I  GAZED  upon  thy  face,  —  and  beating  life 
Once  stilled  its  sleepless  pulses  in  my  breast, 
And  every  thought  wrhose  being  was  a  strife 
Each  in  its  silent  chamber  sank  to  rest. 
I  was  not,  save  it  were  a  thought  of  thee ; 
The  world  was  but  a  spot  where  thou  hadst  trod ; 


THE  BEGINNING  AND    THE  END.      155 

From  every  star  thy  glance  seemed  fixed  on  me ; 
Almost  I  loved  thee  better  than  my  God. 
And  still  I  gaze,  —  but  't  is  a  holier  thought 
Than  that  in  which  my  spirit  lived  before, 
Each  star  a  purer  ray  of  love  has  caught, 
Earth  wears  a  lovelier  robe  than  then  it  wore, 
And  every  lamp  that  burns  around  thy  shrine 
Is  fed  with  fire  whose  fountain  is  divine. 


THE  minutes  have  their  trusts  as  they  go  by, 
To   bear    thy   love    who   wings    their   viewless 

flight ; 

To  Thee  they  bear  their  record  as  they  fly, 
And  never  from  their  ceaseless  round  alight. 
Rich  with  the  life  Thou  liv'st  they  come  to  me,  — 
Oh !  may  I  all  that  life  to  others  show  ; 
That  they  from  strife  may  rise  and  rest  in  Thee, 
And  all  thy  peace  in  Christ  by  me  may  know. 
Then  shall  the  morning  call  me  from  my  rest, 
With  joyful  hope  that  I  thy  child  may  live  ; 
And  when  the  evening  comes,  't  will  make  me 

blest 

To  know  that  Thou  wilt  peaceful  slumbers  give ; 
Such  as  Thou  dost  to  weary  laborers  send, 
Whose  sleep  from  Thee  doth  with  the  dews  de 
scend. 


156  VERTS  POEMS. 


(ZTjje  33ecs;tnntnE  antr  tjje 

THOU  art  the  First  and  Last,  the  End  of  all 
The  wandering  spirit  seeks  of  earth  to  know  ; 
Thee  first  it  left,  a  Parent,  at  its  fall ; 
To  Thee  again  thy  wilful  child  must  go : 
With  awe  I  read  the  promise  of  thy  grace, 
To  all  that  disobey  so  freely  given ; 
The  child  shall  see  again  his  Father's  face, 
And    through    thy   love    return   to   Thee    and 

heaven. 

Ye  spirits  that  around  your  Maker  stand, 
Rejoice !  the  world  is  ransomed  from  its  woe. 
O  earth  !  obey  your  Sovereign's  wise  command, 
'T  was  He  who  bade  for  you  his  mercy  flow  ; 
It  is  for  you  his  love  descends  like  rain, 
That  you  through  Him  may  rise  to  life  again. 


of  f  htft 


PAGE 

A  sad  refrain  I  heard,  from  poet  sad 146 

Awake,  ye  dead !     The  summons  has  gone  forth  ...  77 

Bright  image  of  the  early  years .3 

Come  suddenly,  O  Lord,  or  slowly  come 112 

Dark  fossil  flower !  I  see  thy  leaves  unrolled   ....  131 

Day !  I  lament  that  none  can  hymn  thy  praise    ...  57 

Each  naked  branch,  the  yellow  leaf  or  brown  ....  85 

Father!  I  bless  thy  name  that  I  do  live 39 

Father,  I  wait  thy  word.     The  sun  doth  stand     .    .    • 

Father !  there  is  no  change  to  live  with  Thee  ....  54 

Father!  thy  wonders  do  not  singly  stand 52 

Fleeting  years  are  ever  bearing 1*2 

For  those  who  worship  Thee  there  is  no  death  ....  99 

He  was  not  armed  like  those  of  eastern  clime  ....  151 

I  asked  of  Time  to  tell  me  where  was  Love      ....  153 

I  ask  not  what  the  bud  may  be 125 

I  build  a  house,  but  in  this 'twill  appear 45 

I  cannot  heal  thy  green  gold  breast 136 

I  cannot  hear  thy  voice  with  others'  ears 95 

I  cannot  tell  the  sorrows  that  I  feel 69 

I  found,  far  culled  from  fragrant  field  and  grove      .     .  96 

I  gazed  afar  from  the  rocky  hill 120 

I  gazed  upon  thy  face,  —  and  beating  life 154 

I  have  no  brother.     They  who  meet  me  now  ....  72 

I  idle  stand  that  I  may  find  employ 41 

I  live  but  in  the  present, —  where  art  thou 126 

I  looked  to  find  a  man  who  walked  with  God  ....  70 

I  love  thee  when  thy  swelling  buds  appear      ....  89 

I  love  to  sit  on  the  green  hill's  side 123 

I  saw  a  bunch  of  flowers,  and  Time HI 


158  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 

PAGE 

I  saw  a  war :  yet  none  the  trumpet  blew 151 

I  saw  a  worm, — with  many  a  fold 134 

I  saw  him  forging  link  by  link  his  chain 65 

I  saw  the  spot  where  our  first  parents  dwelt     ....  50 

I  see  them,  — crowd  on  crowd  they  walk  the  earth       .  67 

I  sit  within  my  room,  and  joy  to  find 51 

I  thank  Thee,  Father,  that  the  night  is  near    ....  55 

It  is  not  life  upon  thy  gifts  to  live 54 

I  too  will  wait  with  thee  returning  Spring 86 

It  will  not  stay !  the  robe  so  pearly  white 90 

I  walk  the  street",  and  though  not  meanly  drest  ...  73 

I  would  adorn  the  day  and  give  it  voice 46 

I  would  lie  low  —  the  ground  on  which  men  tread    .     .  44 

I  would  not  breathe,  when  blows  thy  mighty  wind  .     .  87 

I  would  not  tarry.    Look !  the  things  before    ....  78 

Long  do  we  live  upon  the  husks  of  corn 74 

Men  tell  how  many  blossoms  will  appear 124 

My  brother,  I  am  hungry:  give  me  food 74 

My  flocks,  had'st  thou  e'er  seen  them,  where  they  feed  122 

My  heart  grows  sick  before  the  wide-spread  death     .     .  67 

My  mother's  voice  !  I  hear  it  now 145 

Nature !  my  love  for  thee  is  deeper  far 83 

Oh,  bid  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose 88 

Oh,  humble  me!  I  cannot  bide  the  joy 58 

Oh  praise  the  Lord !     Let  every  heart  be  glad      ...  80 

Oh !  swell  my  bosom  deeper  with  thy  love      ....  45 

Poet's  hand  has  placed  thee  there 137 

Rejoice,  ye  weary !  ye  whose  spirits  mourn      ....  79 

She  sleeps  not  where  the  gladsome  earth 138 

Soon  the  waves  so  lightly  bounding 140 

Stay  where  thou  art,  thou  need'st  not  further  go      .     .  101 

Still  blooming  on,  when  Summer  flowers  all  fade     .     .  130 

Still,  still  my  eye  will  gaze  long  fixed  on  thee      ...  93 

The  bubbling  brook  doth  leap  when  I  come  by    ...  85 

The  bush  that  has  most  briars  and  bitter  fruit      .    .     .  103 

The  clear  bright  morning,  with  its  scented  air      ...  100 

The  comings  on  of  Faith 116 

The  fairest  day  that  ever  yet  has  shone 62 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES.  159 

PACK 

The  flowers  I  pass  have  eyes  that  look  at  me    .     .    .     .  84 

The  frost  is  out,  and  in  the  open  fields 106 

The  hand  and  foot  that  stir  not,  they  shall  find    ...  42 

The  house  my  earthly  parent  left 114 

The  latter  rain, —it  falls  in  anxious  haste 105 

The  leaves,  though  thick,  are  falling:  one  by  one    .     .  107 

The  light  that  fills  thy  house  at  morn 119 

The  light  will  never  open  sightless  eyes 56 

The  minutes  have  their  trusts  as  they  go  by     .     .     .     .  155 

The  morning  comes;  and  thickening  fogs  prevail     .    .  99 

The  morning's  brightness  cannot  make  thee  glad     .     .  91 

The  night  that  has  no  star  lit  up  by  God 50 

The  plants  that  careless  grow  shall  bloom  and  bud  .     .  101 

The  prison-house  is  full;  there  is  no  cell 68 

The  Prophet  speaks,  the  world  attentive  stands    ...  76 

The  rain  comes  down,  it  comes  without  our  call  .     .     .  87 

There  is  a  cup  of  sweet  or  bitter  drink 75 

There  is  a  sighing  in  the  wood 117 

There  is  naught  for  thee  by  thy  haste  to  gain  ....  63 

There  is  no  change  of  time  and  plate  with  Thee  ...  52 

There  is  no  death  with  Thee  !  each  plant  and  tree    .     .  53 

There  is  no  faith  :  the  mountain  stands  within     ...  70 

There  is  no  moment  but  whose  flight  doth  bring  ...  40 

There  is  no  worship  now:  the  idol  stands 71 

The  road  is  left  that  once  was  trod 133 

The  rose  thou  show'st  me  has  lost  all  its  hue   ....  97 

The  seed  has  started,  —  who  can  stay  it?     See     ...  97 

The  sun  doth  not  the  hidden  place  reveal 38 

The  sweet-briar  rose  has  not  a  form  more  fair  ....  94 

The  weight  of  years  is  on  the  pile 139 

The  winds  are  out  with  loud  increasing  shout  ....  106 

The  words  that  come  unuttered  by  the  breath      ...  64 

They  love  me  not  who  at  my  table  eat 104 

They  told  me,  when  my  heart  was  glad 127 

Thou  art  more  deadly  than  the  Jew  of  old 72 

Thou  art  the  First  and  Last,  the  End  of  all      ....  156 

Thou  art:  there  is  no  stay  but  in  thy  love 150 

Thou  great  proclaimer  to  the  outward  eye 152 


160  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 

PAGE 

Thou  hast  not  left  the  rough-barked  tree  to  grow      .     .  98 

Thou  lookest  up  with  meek,  confiding  eye 91 

Thou  mak'st  me  poor  that  I  enriched  by  Thee      ...  41 

Thou  need'st  not  flutter  from  thy  half-built  nest  ...  95 

Thou  need'st  not  rest :  the  shining  spheres  are  thine     .  89 

Thou  pray'st  not,  save  when  in  thy  soul  thou  pray'st   .  76 

Thou  readest,  but  each  lettered  word  can  givre     ...  61 

Thou  ripenest  the  fruits  with  warmer  air 104 

Thou  shalt  do  what  Thou  wilt  with  thine  own  hand.     .  43 

Thou  shalt  the  mountain  move;  be  strong  in  me      .     .  78 

Thou  sing'st  alone  on  the  bare  wintry  bough   ....  135 

Thou  springest  from  the  ground,  and  may  not  I  ...  37 

Thou  tellest  truths  unspoken  yet  by  man 92 

Thou  wilt  my  hands  employ,  though  others  find  ...  43 

Thy  beauty  fades,  and  with  it  too  my  love 154 

'T  is  all  a  great  show 143 

'T  is  a  new  life;  —  thoughts  move  not  as  they  did     .     .  49 

'Tis  near  the  morning  watch:  the  dim  lamp  burns  .     .  66 

'T  is  not  that  Thou  hast  given  to  me 118 

'T  is  to  yourself  I  speak;  you  cannot  know     ....  61 

To  tell  my  journeys,  where  I  daily  walk 56 

Trees  shall  rise  around  thy  dwelling 115 

Upon  the  Plymouth  shore  the  wild  rose  blooms    ...  93 

What  is  the  word  ?  I  often  hear  men  say 149 

Whence  came  this  morn,  this  glorious  morn    ....  121 

Whence  didst  thou  spring,  or  art  thou  yet  unborn    .     .  102 

When  comes  the  sun  to  visit  thee  at  morn 65 

When  I  would  sing  of  crooked  streams  and  fields     .     .  83 

Where  this  one  dwells  and  that,  thou  know'st  it  well    .  63 

Why  art  thou  not  awake,  my  son 113 

Why  readest  thou?  thou  canst  not  gain  the  life  ...  37 

Wilt  Thou  not  visit  me     .                                                ,  111 


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